The Kindred Cycle
by Lady Librarian
Summary: Six years after the end of the Daemon War & everyone's all grown up. Unfortunately growing up means discovering there's no such thing as "Happily ever after." Note: Please read ALL of the Wallmaker's Saga prior to this story otherwise it makes NO sense
1. Chapter 1

Nalir glared at his feet as Markl came striding through the door.

Only then did the Wallmaker's son realize he'd brought back half the wastes via the mud on his shoes. He'd come straight from the farm fields by Star Lake when Nalir called him back to Kingsbury. It was nearly a three day journey by cart. But the Mardan Wizard could reach further still, all the way to Tyrn.

Not with his feet.

But with his mind.

"What're they arguing about?" Markl craned his neck to see the images swirling in the eerily perfect orb of crystal on the table. But he couldn't see anything beyond the red curtain of his apprentice brother's hair.

"Wheat," Nalir replied simply. A single crease pressed between his fine red brows and the images shifted abruptly, swirling angrily as the line deepened.

"What?"

"You heard me. Now shut up so I can concentrate."

Markl resisted the urge to kick that back of his apprentice brother's chair, although he got distracted as the colors trembling within suddenly napped at once into place. Within the crystal a tiny replica appeared of one of the council room smaller antechambers. It was heavily scry-warded, but that meant little to a powerful artifact like Suliman's glass when it was in the hands of a master.

Markl recognized his mother's silver head almost immediately.

And there was no mistaking Seran.

He stood behind Martha like a living statue, muffled from head to toe in protective gear so that not an inch of skin showed save his flinty gray eyes. The Stone Man, so the servants called him. Scarred during the Daemon Wars by an encounter with Door, anyone that touched him aged as though they'd put a hand to the hungry black bricks of the Wall in the beyond. The Herbalist had shown Seran great kindness. And after the War the wizard guard appointed himself Martha's personal body guard. Barimus was not inclined to disagree.

Few would welcome such a man into their homes.

Only among the Wallmakers was such a curse really not that out of place.

Markl slouched into an empty chair with a heavy sigh, pulling at one of his amethyst earrings as he propped his heels on the corner of another chair.

"Stop fidgeting." Nalir barked.

"I'm not fidgeting. I just sat down!"

"You are. And get your feet off that chair!"

Markl dropped his offending feet off the cushion. Well, wasn't Nalir in a mood, which probably meant he hadn't eaten a thing today. Casting about he found a still covered tea tray by the door. Stone cold and untouched.

The Mardan could hold still for hours on end, sustaining a perfect concentration that absolutely baffled Markl. Somehow he could feel even the slightest vibration. Hear the tiniest of noises. Markl could barely sit still through a single class session. Could sleep anywhere and through anything. According to Nalir, he snored like a thundercloud.

"Do be quiet!" His lips pressed into a thin line, "I can't hear Master Barimus."

"You've got Barimus? When did he check in? How are the south villagers? Is the flooding bad? Will there be refugees?" Markl began in earnest.

Knocking the table with his knee as he sat bolt upright. Nalir lunged to catch Suliman's orb as it bounced off its stand, turning to glare at him as though he'd cut off all his stupid shiny hair.

"Black bricks, you are a _bloody_ nuisance!"

"Sorry…" He snapped begrudgingly, "I'm just worried, okay."

"Well, go worry somewhere else if you plan on thundering about!" Nalir snapped, already bent back over the orb, "I'm trying to relay orders!"

"But you just called me back here!"

"_Shhh!"_

He could've left. He could've gone back down to the practice labs and set practice spells or give final marks to the reams of exams they had yet to grade. Instead Markl stood and began pacing Barimus' office, which was its usual mess of books, papers, and piles of other official Ingarian wizardry business. The only reason it was in any order was because of Nalir. He tidied almost obsessively. Just like Sophie.

But the Royal Wizard was not in.

And Markl was anxious to hear news from his Uncle.

The Red Sorcerer and Captain Peoter were touring several flood damaged villages on the southern coast. Winter had come early and hard to the three nations. Snow in the wastes and heavy rain on the Chipping Hills was drowning the lower basins. The Royal Sorcerer had gone with the Wizard's Guard to lend whatever aid was needed. That left Martha, Sophie, and Calcifer to try to iron out the workings Tri-Council. County woman, sorceress, and daemon: they represented all three peoples required to hold the assemblies that were being called more and more frequently by bickering Magi.

This week the problem was the wheat shortage.

Last week was negotiating with daemons for a section of the Tyrn River.

The week prior to that was a hideous battle over whether or not the Daemon Wars memorial statue slated for the Royal Square should or should not depict Daemons. That committee was still in discussion.

Six years it had been since the Wall broke.

Six years since it had been mended.

Markl marveled for a moment. Gods, had it really been that long?

And what had they to show for six years of cross creature civility?

Endless, encumbered, bureaucracy.

The Capitol Shielding was still running on electricity. And no one except for Howl trusted the blasted light bulbs enough to touch them. So the north wing of the Royal Palace had been wired with ghastly humming cables. The headache it gave Markl was a constant reminder of the major magical work still to be done.

They were only just finishing rebuilding the country.

Yes, there were finally roofs over the countrymen's heads and cobbled roads for steam cars to perambulate upon. The trains ran through the mountains again and planes took to the skies. But hundreds of rural towns across the three nations still lived a tenuous truce with their otherworldly neighbors. Ever since the war the Kindred had begun making a great show of reclaiming their territories. Unfortunately daemon's had long memories to match their long lives. And their traditional territories ran borders hundreds of years old. Problem was, these ranges often overlapped with what mankind liked to call Progress, namely farms pastures and often whole townships. Problems occurred whenever a framer tried to till a pasture or cut down trees to raise a barn, which was making it near impossible to grow food.

Hence the wheat shortage.

Hence he was in the field ever other day, mediating conversations between kindred, mankind, and magi alike. Humans were far more difficult to deal with than daemons. Markl was better with daemons anyway. And truth be told, Markl didn't mind being gone from Kingsbury. No matter how much time he spent in his uncle's office. Or the teaching rooms working with the apprentices. Or even his clutter strewn apartment at the top of the North tower. He always felt like he was just visiting.

Kingsbury wasn't home.

It never would be.

For all Howl's dandying, not a lick of his charm had rubbed off on his apprentice. Markl could never remember the proper address for each title or rank. He was always spilling ink or components on his dress suits or tripping over his own feet as he bowed.

Thank the Wall for Nalir.

His apprentice brother was everything he wasn't. Refined, well spoken, expertly versed in etiquette and all the worthless courtly pleasantries Markl had no time for. And he made an excellent blind. The red haired Mardan was so pretty all Markl had to do was hide in his shadow and he practically disappeared.

Sometimes he reminded Markl of Howl.

And Howl?

Well, who really knew where Howl was at these days. He seemed to be everywhere at once. Any moment he could pop out of a closets in a shower of dazzling sparkles or crash into a committee meeting reeking of hyacinth. Like fate itself, he always appeared exactly when he needed to. But oddly enough, he never seemed to be around when you wanted him. As a result, he never managed to get anything done.

That, according to the Wallmaker, was what he had apprentices for.

Besides picking up after their masters, tutoring apprentices at the Ingarian Wizard's academy was the mainstay of their weekly business. But thanks to the winter holiday the screaming droves of pre-pubescent magi were gone. Which left Nalir to his official-unofficial business: eavesdropping. At Barimus' instruction Nalir listened in on practically every council meeting that was scheduled, making full reports of the decisions being made and by whom. He also kept tabs on the general goings-on of the Palace, reporting anything out of the ordinary directly to Barimus via Mindspeech.

Markl liked to watch Suliman's crystal.

The images were fascinatingly beautiful.

But the suspense was killing.

After a long moment Nalir let out the breath he was holding, rubbing his temples as he collapsed back into his chair. He looked tired. Dark circles stood out against his pale skin, which was nearly translucent compared to Markl's brown complexion. Mucking about on the wastes all summer courting daemons had its advantages; although the snow piling from the sky was sure to cure him of his tan soon enough. Nalir did not come on these forays, and not just because of his delicate health. His apprentice brother did not do well with daemons.

Not many Magi did save the Wallmakers.

This was where Barimus and Howl depended on him. Because they had enough on their hands. They couldn't be spared to sort through every spat and incident that occurred between Otherkind and human. But someone had to; otherwise they would be right back where they started. And that was where Markl excelled.

Keep the peace.

Preserve the Wall.

Lest both worlds be unmade.

"You look like hell, Nalir. When's the last time you went outside?" Markl came back to the table to watch the little figures mill about as the image snapped back into place within the orb.

"I am quite well, thank you. May I suggest you keep your thoughts on our current business?" Nalir relayed frostily, "Looks like they've reached an accord. Lady Sophie has convinced Yewin to accepting fair terms by my judgment. Trader Ewigg from Marda and Wizard Elsha from Tyrn both agree. A 2 to 1 distribution of emergency stores to be overseen and distributed by Countrymen."

Markl frowned. "What was he asking for?"

"More than was necessary." The line was back between Nalir's green eyes, which opened to scowl at the crystal, "Ingary has the larger population by far of Tyrn and Marda. There was no reason to ask for equal distribution. He was just being difficult."

"Why's that man on the Countrymen Affairs council anyway?"

"He has a right to take an interest in the wellbeing of his fellow men."

"Right." Markl drawled sarcastically, earning a scathing glare from the Mardan wizard.

"The same can be said for your interest in resettling displaced daemons."

It was Markl's turn to bristle.

"Kindred have as much right to a safe home as we do."

Nalir steepled his graceful fingers, leveling his emerald eyes over the tips. His hands were far too pretty. Long and slender. Just like Howl's. Not at all like his. Between Mrs. Fairfax's farm and Martha's garden, Markl's hands were rough and square from work.

His were farming hands.

Not wizarding hands.

"Precisely my point." Nalir caught short on a cough that rasped deep in his lungs, "And Healer Yewin has a right to work for the wellbeing of his countrymen."

It was Markl's turn to scowl at his apprentice brother, "I'm no healer, but that cough's getting worse. Did you go to see Theresa yet?"

"Enough, mother-hen!" The pictures in the orb faded as Nalir waved him off irritably. "It's just the damp."

The Mardan rose with all the poise being raised highborn could offer. And Markl marveled for a moment, envying his apprentice brother's dexterity. Nalir loved showing off just to get a rise out of him. Markl hated being reminded of his social ineptitude. Still, Nalir was just a skinny bastard beneath his fancy black robes. Nearly a year older and still a shoulder shorter. He had an awful inferiority complex to go with his vertically challenged state. All Markl had to do was loom and the little wizard went perfectly red with fury.

"Don't make me get Theresa to put poison in your tea."

Nalir snorted derisively as he carried the crystal to its ornately carved box, "I doubt she'd even trouble with the tea."

Markl looked beyond the sarcasm and softened, "Aw, don't be like that. Look," He pointed at the food tray, "Therese keeps trying to feed you, doesn't she? She wouldn't do that if she hated you."

"So you say." His apprentice brother sniffed dismissively as he took a dust cloth from the drawer beneath the box, cleaning the fingers prints from the reflective surface. But his shoulders were still tense, knotted with poorly disguised tension.

"You never said whether or there would be refugees." Markl pressed.

And Nalir paused, leaning over the orb as if trying to hide something.

"Yes." His voice was heavy with worry and regret.

Nalir himself was a refugee.

So his reaction wasn't a surprise to someone who really knew him.

"How many?"

"Entire villages were destroyed," He continued grimly, "I've already let the Healer's Wing know what to expect."

"Shit…" The young wizard's heart sank in his chest.

"Precisely." Nalir resumed polishing even through the orb was clean.

But then he paused, standing bolt upright as though he'd been shocked. Spreading his palm over the crystal, it lit up with such a perfect picture of Theresa Markl felt his chest squeeze.

"What the…" His apprentice brother turned; hand still on the orb, shock and confusion replacing his usually overconfident countenance, "Markl… Yewin is demanding Theresa accompany the wheat shipment to as an official ambassador of Marda."

"W-what!?"

"Apparently he's already heard about the inbound refugees."

"How the hell'd he find out?"

"I don't know…" Nalir had both his hands on the orb now, bending over it as though forcing it to submit to his will. Sweat beading on his forehead. And the shapes within were moving so quickly Markl had to look away. They hurt to look at, so he could only image what was going on in Nalir's head.

"Martha is protesting, but Yewin cut her off. He says no one else can be spared or trusted. Not with the incoming refugees." His apprentice brother went pale, grimacing into the glass, "Bloody bricks, your aunt looks about ready to throttle him."

Markl was floored. "But it's just a wheat shipment! What the hell is he worried about? Air pirates!?"

"No. It's not just wheat." Nalir turned his ear to the orb, listening to things Markl couldn't hear. "Medical supplies and other aid will also be included in the shipment. These are desperate times. Under-handed dealings and outright piracy have already been discovered on even Crown appointed crews."

"But Theresa's not even from Marda!"

"Actually, she is." Nalir's matter-o-fact replay brought Markl up short.

"Really?"

Nalir nodded absently, as if remembering, "She's a refugee of the Ingarian-Mardan War. She came to Kingsbury with a group of orphaned country children."

"How'd you know that!?"

Nalir shrugged, "Ryden must have told me."

Markl mulled that over, wondering what else he didn't know about her. "Well that doesn't matter because Theresa won't want to go. I know her. She'll want to stay to help with the refugees."

Again Nalir was frowning, peering into the glass, "Apparently not. Lady Sophie just raised that question. Yewin says that Theresa's been asking him for a chance to supervise something important, something beyond inventorying herbs and bandages… Good Stars, Lady Martha looks ready to have an embolism."

It never ceased to be funny to hear him calling his mom and auntie by such formal names. Six years now Nalir had been coming to diners, holidays, and birthdays. Six years he still insisted on formalities, although Markl couldn't understand why. All it did was hold them at arm's length. But then again, Nalir didn't come from a very affectionate family. He'd seen rocks with more warmth than Lady Merra. At least Calcifer was pleased. He crackled all rosy and pink whenever Nalir called him _Lord_ Councilor.

At first Markl and Nalir hated each other.

They were nothing alike.

Had nothing in common except their devotion to their masters.

After a while he got used to having Nalir around. Got used to his snippy comments and puffed-up ego. Learned to look through them and see what was behind: fear and loneliness. Nalir must have gotten used to him too, because over the years they began spending more and more time together. Nalir was smart. Really smart. He saw things Markl didn't even consider. Boy, did that every come in handy. Now he couldn't image life without his apprentice brother.

"I don't want her going by herself." Markl was back to pacing, an anxious stone growing larger and larger in the heart of his chest, "Not if it's like you say."

"I never assumed she would be going alone." Suddenly Nalir sounded exhausted. He was bent over the orb, gripping the table. "Of course you'll accompany her."

"Yeah… You're right. I should go, shouldn't I?"

"Don't reply with open ended questions, Markl. It leaves room for argument… You'll not be surprised to know that Calcifer just suggested such a solution. Lady Martha seems to have quieted. Lady Sophie looks rather pleased as well." Nalir lifted Suliman's crystal back out of its box, carrying it back to the table as though it weighed a hundred pounds, "May I suggest that this would be a perfect opportunity to give her an early birthday present."

"Huh?" Again he gave his apprentice brother a blank stare.

"Her birthday, Markl. It is seven days away."

That's right!" The lanky wizard smacked himself on the back of his head.

Theresa's birthday was close to Shan and Dierdre's. Lettie made a fantastic cake one year out of toasted cocoanut cream. It looked just like a snow man. But beneath the icing was all chocolate. She lit it on fire and the insides melted to perfection. Markl was looking forward to the grand cake she made for the Royal Ingarian Winter Solstice Ball. He was willing to dress up and be bored to tears by an evening of dancing and endless pleasantries if it meant having just a single slice of Lettie's cake.

"It would not be wise to forget this year as well." Nalir commented dryly.

Markl winced.

He'd forgotten last year. Theresa didn't make a big deal out of it, but he knew it hurt her feelings. She always did such nice things for his birthday.

Nalir put the orb back on its pillow and heaved a sigh, collapsing into his chair. There was a Mardan sized dent in the seat cushion, evidence to how many hours a day he spent working at that table. And a Barimus sized nook pressed into the cushions of the chair next to it. Beyond furniture, something in Nalir's manner reminded Markl of his uncle. The Red Wizard's legs ached on damp days like this. And so did Nalir's chest, his lungs scarred from childhood sickness. Peas in a pod.

Other apprentices might have been jealous.

But Markl wasn't.

He was glad.

He'd never wanted to be Royal Sorcerer.

Nalir was a better choice by far.

Unfortunately Barimus still wasn't convinced.

They'd have to make a choice soon enough.

And Nalir could never be Wallmaker.

But as things were shaping, Akarshan had a better chance as Wallmaker's heir. Only thirteen and the little brat had more magic in his little pinky than Markl could dream of. That and an eerie affinity for anything Otherworldly. He had his twin to thank for that. Deirdre looked in on them from time to time. It still scared the pants off him to see her looking out of a mirror. Smiling serenely. Just like Nox.

Poor Nalir. He let out a good one just the other day.

Screamed just like a girl.

Matched his hair and his hands for once.

But if Nalir became Royal Sorcerer, and if Akarshan followed in his father's footsteps, then Markl would be free. Free to leave Kingsbury. To start a farm in the wastes where he could easily help keep the peace.

Free to finally have a family.

Keep bees.

Grow apples.

And have scores of little red-haired children.

"Yeah… I totally forgot last year. Thanks for reminding me!"

"Yes, Markl. Not, yeah." His apprentice brother was always on him about speaking properly, smoothing out his clothes and getting him to stand up straight. "You are welcome. Now go away."

"But you haven't told me why you called me back here! I came all the way from the Wastes!"

Nalir was quiet for a long moment, looking at the far window, out into the royal gardens. Beyond the bare trees they could see the fogged up windows of the solariums and the Healer's Wing.

"I called you back because I knew this meeting would have something to do with Theresa. I assumed you would want to be here to hear about it yourself."

Markl marveled. "Gods… Is there anything you don't know!?"

"Probably." A slight smile pulled Nalir's lips; although it self-deprecating rather than prideful, "But I'll find out eventually."

"Nalir… What do you think about a new pair of hedge sheers?" Markl scratched his chin, feeling the stubble he'd trimmed off that morning. Not a whisker stood up on Nalir's chin. Not that there were any there to scrap off in the first place, "Or a new pair of muck boots? She said her pair is leaking. And there's nothing worse than muddy socks in the winter."

His apprentice brother wilted in his chair, letting out a long suffering sigh.

"What? No boots?"

"No, Markl… No muck boots." Nalir paused to hack into his elbow, "May I recommend something more romantic?"

Instantly heat flowed into Markl's cheeks, burning beet red. "S-sure… What do you suggest?"

"Flowers, Markl. Get her flowers. No roses, mind you. See if you can find sunflowers. Theresa adores them." His apprentice brother had his face in his hands. "That's all the help I'm giving you for today. Now get out so I can work."

***

Theresa glowered up at Markl, growing angrier by the minute.

Good, green, growing things!

He actually didn't get it did he!?

He didn't understand how important this opportunity was for her. Didn't understand how long she'd been waiting for this. To be given a real task befitting a healer, not an apprentice. This was her chance to prove herself. A chance to be taken seriously. To prove she was capable of handling things on her own.

But everyone seemed to want to cosset her.

Wizard Guards, servants, and healers alike tripped over themselves to open doors when she was perfectly capable of opening them herself. They were always catching up whatever she was carrying even when she didn't need the help. Relieving her of her wheelbarrows or loam buckets. Fetching her ladders instead of letting her climb the low limbed trees.

Had it really been that long?

Had they forgotten what she'd done during the War?

Now that she had a chance to help people again.

To remind them all of what she could do.

Why couldn't he be proud that one of the Councilors remembered enough to believe in her? Why couldn't he be happy that someone had remembered enough to recommend her by name? But facing him in all his blind male stupidity, all that came out was something equally stupid.

"I don't need a babysitter, Markl!"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Instantly his face hardened, that stubborn frown turning down the corners of his mouth as he stuffed his fists into his pockets. He scowled down at her like an angry stork. Theresa's heart immediately started up in her chest as she stared back, resisting the urge to stand on a chair so she could look him right in the eyes.

"Well, I'm not your babysitter."

And here it was.

A perfect chance to call him out on six years of awkward hugs. Six years of chumming around digging mud puddles, planting Mrs. Fairfax's fields, climbing trees. Six years of flying together at dusk. Just flying. She'd been thinking about this moment for almost a year now. Trying get up enough courage to talk to him. But there never seemed to be time.

There was too much to do.

First it was the War.

Then the aftermath.

Rebuilding was harder than anything she faced during the sieges.

Monsters were easy compared to getting people to cooperate.

It seemed like they were always right next to each other.

In the same room.

At the same meetings.

Working on the same projects.

But still, they were miles apart.

Just like when they went flying.

They both kept moving forward.

Together at first. Close enough to touch.

But then slowly but surely drifting apart.

He wasn't a kid anymore, which was for sure. And neither was she.

Her insides went all kinds of warm as her eyes wander over him. Gods, he'd gotten handsome. Strong nose. Strong chin. Warm brown eyes that crinkled up when he smiled. And he was good with kids. Kind by far to the youngest apprentices than any other of the teachers. Markl was even taller than Howl now. All lean muscled browned from working in the sun.

She heard the other healer girls tittering about him when they thought she wasn't listening. They were worse than the girl apprentices; although Hedera was the worst. Both the chesty blonde taught at the Academy along with Trissa. But she hung around the palace gardens more and more frequently, and not for an appreciation of nature. The things that came out of her mouths were more than indecent. They were cruel! To her credit, Trissa tried to keep Hedera away from her, but for not reason other than she thought Markl was beneath her apprentice sister. Theresa had come close to going after them with a rake just recently for a comment Trissa made to that effect.

But that would have damaged any chances she had of moving upwards.

Closing off any hope she had of escaping the store rooms.

King Ferdinand's All-Kind decree ended the Daemon Wars and opened the Council to more than Magi. Country men and women from all three countries now had the opportunity to participate in government. But it was very difficult to gain position without the sponsorship of a functioning member. It would be near impossible to find that sponsorship if she took up the practice of pruning the egos of rude Magi with her clipping sheers.

So she gritted her teeth and bided her time.

Even now there was mud on Markl's boots, probably from trekking over the wastes. And if only for a moment she envied him his freedom. Wishing she could go with instead of being left behind. But there was no place for her where he went. With not a stitch of magic in her bones, there was nothing useful she could do to help him keep the balance.

So she would have to find her own way free.

Because Theresa knew what was going on.

Hedera was waiting. Waiting to see what would happen. Waiting for a turn to try her luck. And the Herbalist's apprentice glared at the lot, making it clear she knew exactly what they were doing. That, however, wasn't making her any girl friends. She didn't really have any besides Markl's cousins. Milly, Tilly, and Lily: Cesari's armada of little blonde pastry chefs. But she didn't care. Who needed bitchy, stuck-up, hanger-on's anyway?

She did have some friends in Kingsbury. Ryden for one. The bean-pole apprentice had filled out into an excellent Wizard Guard. He had made himself indispensable to Captain Peoter. Peoter had never been the same after his brother's death. He rarely smiled. Except for her. A bit of life flickered in him then. But it never went into his dark green eyes. And Theresa adored Ryden if only for the fact that he was a good friend to the shattered twin and the Stone Man. The Herbalist's apprentice often found Seran wandering alone the Royal Gardens, often while waiting to accompany Martha on official business. She kept him company whenever she could. The same for Peoter.

Why did she always collect men who needed to be taken care of?

And she was looking her favorite right at that moment.

Theresa frowned at the gray already peppering his shaggy brown hair, which was in sore need of trim. He needed a shave too. There were buttons missing from his shirt. Stains on the collar. Holes in his socks, which were always going missing. She knew because she was the only one who dared excavate a way through the sty of a room he kept in the top of the north tower. He would dress in rags if not for her and Nalir. She'd seen his apprentice brother spin him around and march him right back to his room to change the moment he set eyes on his clothes. The thin Mardan wizard was trying to make a proper gentleman out of him. And she was trying to keep the both of them from starving. Theresa feared that was a lost cause. Especially when it came to Nalir.

And what did it matter if he did go without socks or wear stained shirts!? Markl didn't have to impress anyone. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone remembered what he had done. He didn't need anyone's approval to do what he knew needed to be done. That was something else she envied him for.

But Markl would never be courtly in the way of his father and Uncle.

And now that he was living at the Royal Palace, outside the range of Sophie's care, far from the haven of the Moving Castle, Markl was falling apart.

She saw it in him a little more every day. The deepening lines around his eyes. The constant frown on his lips. The defeat in his shoulders when the Magi's endless bickering stretched longer and longer.

Markl didn't belong in Kingbury.

It was changing him in ways she didn't like.

And so she threw her eyes at the door of the supply room. Closed. Thank the sun! No one was in the supply room but them. Then she planted her hands on her hips and got right up into his face, nose hovering inches from his. Her voice low, not so much angry as something else.

"Alright… What are you then?"

Again he stared at her, gaping like a helpless fish. Turning so red she could feel the heat coming off of his face. Looking thirteen years old all over again. Lost. Confused. Gods, she almost kissed him right there on the spot. Then he had to open his big dumb mouth.

"I… I'm your friend, Theresa. I… I care about you."

Theresa looked back at him, just as helplessly.

Was she doing something wrong?

No. There wasn't any way to make this clearer.

And then she realized it wasn't her.

It was him.

There was just as much longing in his brown eyes as there was fear.

He knew! The bastard knew!

He just couldn't make the first move.

And he never could. The first and only time they'd kissed, _she_ kissed him. If you could call hitting your head against someone else's in an ash pit after crashing a flying castle _kissing._

It hurt. How, it hurt.

But she was tired of doing all the work.

Tired of taking care of everyone.

Tired of waiting.

Wearily, she got off the chair and turned away a step back, crossing her arms, folding in on herself as she stared at her feet, willing her blurry vision to clear. "Please, Markl. Let me do this by myself."

"But… But I don't want you to go alone!"

"Well we don't always get what we want now do we?!" It was a cruel thing to say. But she wasn't feeling very generous right now. "If you're my friend, if you care about me, then let me do this! No one will take me seriously if I can't complete a simple aid mission without an escort. Especially if that escort is _you_!"

He blinked, looking hurt, "What's that supposed to mean!?"

Turning back to him, she threw her shaking fists at the ceiling, "It means I don't want to spend the rest of my life inventorying baskets and bushels of herbs. I want to help people, Markl!"

"But you do help people, Theresa. This place wouldn't run without you." Ever the peace maker, he cut in, holding up his hands placating, trying to calm her down.

But she wasn't having any of it.

Because he wasn't listening.

No one was.

"Yes it would, Markl!" She nearly shouted in his face, and he looked away, at anything but her. "That's what you don't understand. Anyone can run inventory. Anyone can keep shop. But I've got bigger dreams than this room can hold! I don't want to be an apprentice anymore, Markl!"

He looked flabbergasted as he stared at the floor. And a heavy flush climbed up into her cheeks as she paced the room, nervously straightened and dusted the supply shelves, feeling completely exposed. Because she'd never told anyone about this before. Not even Martha.

"You get to go out there, Markl!" She waved at the skylight, looking up at the grey light filtering down from the sky, "But me? I'm stuck here, mixing medicines and brewing gallons of tea for people I will never see. It isn't enough! I want to be out there while it's happening where I can make a real difference. This is my only chance, don't you see!? My one shot at showing the Tri-Council and Martha what I'm capable of."

He started as if her words had bounced off his forehead, "Theresa… I… I'm sorry, but I already talked to Martha. She won't let you go without me."

The Herbalist apprentice dropped the bundle of sage she held in her hand.

"W-what?"

He was pulling on his earring, a sure tell he was really upset. "That was Martha's requirement. That was the only way she agreed you could go, was on the condition you have an escort."

"Martha?"

She spoke her Mistress' name out loud as if hearing it for the first time.

The Herbalist hadn't said word one when Healer Yewin came by to charge her with the task. She'd just stood there. Still and quiet as stone. Arms crossed. Scowling at Yewin's back just like she always did. Theresa didn't think anything of it. But then again, they never mentioned the Herbalist's requirement. Probably assumed she wouldn't object.

It wasn't such a big deal.

But why did it feel so much like she'd been betrayal?

Whirling on her heel, Theresa seized a basket, climbing as high up the ladder as she could, throwing things into it at random. It was the only thing that kept her from hitting Markl or screaming her head off. There were patients asleep in the next room over. And if she seriously hurt Markl, well, she'd be the one that would have to patch him up.

"Theresa? Theresa!" He called from the base of the ladder, backing up as she tromped down, "I know you're upset. Wait! At least let get the door!"

"_I can get it myself!" _She snarled, kicking it open before slamming it behind her as hard as she could.

She took a hard right almost immediately, pushing into a broom closet before Markl could follow. Inside she set down her basket and turned one of the hooks. A tiny panel popped open in the wall, reveling one of the thousands of narrow passages that crisscrossed the Royal Palace. Magi could pop in and out by sorcery alone. But countyfolk had their ways of sly creeping about too. Squeezing through into the secret passage, she shimmied her way through the wall and out into another closet adjacent to the door to the green houses. The hot moist air hit her like a wall, and greenery blurred by anonymously. She held it together until she made it to the hedge maze. Winding herself silly through the twisting nooks and corners of well trimmed laurel.

Until she hit the center; an ivied courtyard of stone benches and gently bubbling fountains ringed by short walls of ornately carved stone. Tucking herself behind the fence, cozied up to the roots of one of the shrubs, she sat in the dirt and cried her eyes out.

Theresa didn't know how long she sat there, staring up at the delicate veins of the high glasses ceiling. Long enough for someone else to make their way through the maze. She heard the footfalls on the bricks, slow and measured, followed by the rustle of silks and the awful stink of synthetic rose perfume. Theresa's heart froze in her chest as Hedera sat on a stone bench just on the other side of the wall. The Herbalist's apprentice went perfectly still. The last thing she wanted was for the fat witch to see her in this state.

"What's wrong, sweetie? Why you hiding?"

Theresa nearly jumped out of her skin as Hedera spoke up, her drawling words viper sweet. Try as she might, she couldn't think of anything to say

"Did Markl finally break up with you? Or are you just having fun digging in the mud?" She laughed then, a high twittery sound devoid of anything but nastiness. "Try the pig sties next, little twiggy. I'm sure you'll be more at home there."

Hated scorched Theresa's insides as she gritted her teeth, struggling to make not a single sound, even through Hedera knew she was there. But it came welling out her all the same. Hot little traitors tears that cut paths of shame down her cheeks.

"Why, Hedera." Nalir suddenly spoke in the distance, "I didn't expect to find you so far from the dining hall."

Theresa went stock still as Hedera let out a small squeak of surprise. She could feel the witch bristle with dislike.

"What do you want, Skinny-Nally?"

"Just enjoying the maze." He replied smooth as silk, "Although I fear you'll starve before you make it back. Oh. But I see you've brought provisions. The cake crumbs on your bodice should see you through."

"How dare you!?" Hedera seethed.

Theresa flinched as the air crackled with kinetic potential of the witch's magic, making the hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

"I dare quite well, Hedera," Nalir's voice deepened with confident forewarning, "Care to try me?"

The threat of her magic dissolved much the same way a flame extinguishes, but not without a parting shot, "And be thrown in shackles for damaging an already crippled weakling? I think not."

She rose in a huffy rustle of skirts, the heels of her shoes clicking loudly against the stones as she stomped away.

"Good afternoon, Hedera." He called after her urbanely, "And do remember the kitchen pantries are to the left, not the right."

Markl's apprentice brother came over to the bench and sat down without a word. Waiting patiently, until Theresa couldn't stand it anymore.

"How the _bloody_ hell do you know I'm here!?" She muttered.

"You smell like the Healer's supply closet."

She bristled in anticipation of more torment, "What? No pithy insults?"

Nalir was quiet for a moment. But his calm reply was nothing but neutral, "On the contrary I think you smell good. Like camphor and cinnamon. Something at once earthy but sharp and green."

That was not what she expected to hear.

"Oh…" She snuffled loudly, wiping her nose on her sleeve, not sure what else to say.

"Here," A handkerchief slipped over the edge of the wall. And she took it without comment, pausing as he spoke again. Gently this time, almost as though he was apologizing.

"In any other instance I would have sent Markl or Lady Martha, but though that might be a bit imprudent. Lady Sophie and Master Barimus are both indisposed. As are Guard Seran, Guard Peoter, and Guard Ryden."

"Are you spying on me, Nalir?"

"Yes. Well. I spy on everyone. It is my job." His awkwardness made him sound less like of an ass, although contempt crept back into his words as he spoke of Hedera, "I wouldn't have come if that fat pig hadn't followed you."

Theresa sighed.

"Would you like me to leave?" His earnest reply made her reconsider the hot words she was planning on tossing at him. And then she realized she very much did not want to be alone right now.

"No… It's okay."

She stood slowly only to find her legs had fallen asleep. Nalir jumped up from the bench as she climbed over and gracelessly plopped onto the stone bench. Wiping muddy hands on her green apron, Theresa looked the Mardan Wizard up and down as if seeing him for the first time.

"Here." She held out his handkerchief only to find that he was frowning at her hair. Instantly she bristled, "What!?"

"Umm… There is…" He half reached out hesitantly only to yank back his hands, putting them behind his back, "There are sticks… and things in your hair."

"Yeah. That happens." Shaking her head, she swept at her head and face.

"Um… There was some mud." He flustered his hands again, pointing ineffectually.

"Where?" She wiped at her cheek, "Gone?"

"No. No, there's more now," He had his handkerchief in hand, tentatively holding it out like a white flag, "May I?"

Standing, Theresa found he was only a little taller. She could look him right in the eyes. The barest hint of a blush crept into his cheeks as he dabbed at her forehead and temple.

Okay. So Kelly, one of the greenies in her wing, was right.

He was gorgeous.

Man pretty in that Howl kind of way. His long auburn hair silky and shiny against the stark black velvet of his robes. With the pale, refined features you saw so often in Royal portraits. Thin lips drawn into an anxious line that matched the crease between his brilliant emerald eyes. And he stood perfectly still with impeccable posture.

Oh, yeah. He was Marda through and through.

"There." He stepped back, letting out the breath he had been holding.

Theresa discovered she had been holding her breath as well. Although she didn't crumble into a coughing fit as she breathed in.

Nalir did.

The thin wizard bent his face into the muddy handkerchief, dropping gracelessly onto the stone bench as the dry hacks wracked his thin shoulders. He was pale and trembling when they passed. Immediately Theresa was beside him, already full healer-mode.

"How long have you had this cough?"

"What?" He rasped, starting violently as she took his chin with her muddy hand. He went rigid as a pole as she peered intently at his wan features.

"How long?" She repeated.

"S-since a child."

"I've never seen you like this."

"Winter aggravates it. The cold and damp, you see. Its better here in Ingary compared to Marda." His flush was back with a vengeance, turning just his cheeks and his Adam's apple brilliant red. The rest of him stayed milky white. It was funny. Almost cute.

"What are you taking?" He jumped again as she picked his thin wrist to take his pulse. Black bricks he was thin. Birdish even.

"Horehound syrup. Onion and garlic poultices. The gardens help. The air is warm."

She frowned, "In six years I've never once seen you out here."

"And you never will." He answered in distraction, shrinking as she reached for his face, earning a fierce scowl.

"Stick out your tongue."

"P-pardon?"

"You heard me."

"I assure you I'm quite well." Nalir put up his hands and Theresa drew back, putting her hands on her hips with an exasperate exhalation. He noticed the movement, and the apples of his cheeks turned redder still.

"If you're so well, then why do you look so sick?"

He stiffened, gathering up to his feet as his jade eyes hardened like stones, "As I said, Lady Theresa. Winter is hard."

She was pushing it now. Theresa could see the barely restrained anger in the set of his jaw. Rigid. Like the rest of him. But he was keeping his temper, something rare for Nalir. Which gave her pause, because throughout their entire interaction he had been nothing but polite. Impressed, and a bit confused, Theresa relented.

"Fine. But swear on the Wall to come and see me if it worsens."

"Fine."

Stepping back, he put one of his slender hands to his chest. Summoning all the grace and gratitude of a thousand words, he bowed to her as if she was queen of the world. Shocked, she watched as he turned and strode to one of the mouths to the maze. But here he paused with his back to her.

"For what it's worth… I know how you feel."

Baffled, Theresa stared after him as he disappeared into the laurels.

***

Since Nalir's apprenticeship to the Wizard Barimus Lady Merra politely declined King Ferdinand's invitation to a suite on the Royal Grounds. She took a house in Kingsbury instead. Outside the enormous windows rain had begun to fall from the swiftly darkening sky. But through the clouds he caught a glimpse of the Palace's golden domes.

He had a room here but never used it.

And Merra never visited his apartment at the Palace.

So he had to come to her whenever he wished to see her.

Which was not very frequently.

For some reason Merra treated him as though he had betrayed her for accepting something he did not want. Something she had all but forced him to take. True, when she first posed being heir to the Royal Sorcerer he'd been thrilled. What young wizard didn't dream of being apprenticed to Lord Councilor Barimus, the Red Wizard, and brother of the Wallmaker himself! And after the Daemon Wars ended, Merra received her wish, payment for finding Erin Danna, the blight that had nearly destroyed them all. As per the agreement struck with King Ferdinand, Master Barimus offered him an apprenticeship.

Grudgingly, of course.

Barimus did not want him, had never wanted him.

And Master Tirut did.

Nalir didn't appreciate what that meant until he was forced to give it up.

He accepted. Even through abandoning Tirut nearly destroyed him. But if the tremulous old man had ever been troubled by it, he never let it show. Instead Tirut showered Nalir in congratulations, lauded him in front of the Alliance Council for contributions that saved the three nations. Even in front of Merra! Nalir had never seen his mother so abashed. Then Wizard Tirut, eldest and wisest of the Council, presented him to his master, Lord Councilor Barimus with the greatest pride.

Later that night, Nalir listened in on a few of their private words.

Never before had Nalir come to close to crying in public.

But not from delight, but shame.

"He is a good boy, Barimus." Tirut pronounced with great earnestness, "Treat him well and never doubt that. He will do you proud."

Tirut died in his sleep less than three months later.

Nalir never forgave himself.

But Merra could care less about his personal pain. For once in her life, was she happy? No. Not in the slightest. Yes, he was apprenticeship to the Royal Wizard. But he stood as one of _two_ potential heirs to the position. As far as his mother was concerned, she had been cheated. And if there was one thing Nalir had learned about his mother, eventually Merra always got her way.

Seated on a red silk chair as if a perfectly posed, Merra green eyes grazed over the book in her hands, sharp like a razor. Nalir watched from the archway as the fire flickering in the enormous stone hearth danced across her alabaster skin. There was a long puckering scar on her temple. A constant reminder of how close he came to loosing his mother on more than one occasion. He couldn't stop staring at it.

Over the fireplace was a portrait of his dead father. It was like looking in a mirror. So Nalir never looked.

She could have been stone. Marble.

Ice was more likely. He could feel the cold emanating out of her.

"What are you doing, mother?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She replied archly.

Nalir crossed his arms, "You know what I mean."

"I assure you," She countered with detached crispness, "I do not."

It was hard not to let a shred of anger permeate his words. She was lying to him. And it wounded him deeply.

"Then explain to me how Yewin knew about the flood refugees?"

"Good heavens!" She put down her book, lifting a hand to her cheek as she turned wide eyes to him, "There are flood refugees?"

Nalir blood instantly rose to a boil. And it took every shred of his self-control to keep his temper in check.

"It is ill befitting of a lady to make light of other's suffering, _mother_."

He spat the word as though it was poison. Merra's eyes narrowed dangerously, glittering in the candle light although her features remained serene.

"I would remind my _son_ that it is wise to trust his mother's judgment."

She turned away, back to her book. But the smug smile on her lips sent Nalir's heart racing with dread, breaking his calculated calm; because he never could be sure what that look meant. Then the cough caught him off guard, choking off the words he'd planned, stealing the air from his lungs as pain burned deep in his chest. And the marble floor was beneath his hands even before he realized he'd fallen, gasping at air that seemed to burn like coals. The world tipped. And Merra had him.

"Shhh! It's alright, darling." She hushed, her soft voice pitched with fear. He struggled for air as her cold hands smoothed over his back. All the while she whispered soothingly, "Hush! Hush, little bird. Breathe. Breathe."

If only for a moment he clung to her out of sheer panic. Letting her thin arms hold him. Letting her rock him as she had when he was very small.

But he tore himself away, knocking back against the far wall, staring at his mother as though she was a stranger. Merra looked back from where she knelt on the floor, her black skirts pooling like tar on the pale stone floor. The same pale color as her outstretched hands. Wordlessly she reached for him. As if he was miles away. As if she knew she'd never reach him. And the pain on her face looked real enough. He'd experienced enough pain to know when it was false. But he never could be sure with his mother.

"Whatever you and Yewin are scheming… I won't be a part of it…" Nalir rasped as another spasm clutched at his throat, "Do you hear me!?"

"I swear to you, Nalir, I told Yewin nothing! I don't know how he knew about the refugees." Her emerald eyes were pleading.

And she was telling the truth this time. At least he thought she was.

Still, something wasn't right. The dread remained.

Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled down the hall. The walls seemed to press down on him from all directions. Smothering him. Covering him until it seemed he would be pressed flat in the frigid darkness.

But he didn't stop.

Calling up his magic, Nalir tore at the front latch, spilling into his Master's empty office, closing the portal behind him.

"_Nalir!"_ Merra's shrill cry chased after him, cut short as the door slammed shut.

***

Markl tugged viciously on his earring as he starred out the window in Barimus' office at the airship on the landing field beyond the green houses. Loading crews milled in and out of the great metal beast like tiny trails of ants.

"Pull any harder and you're going to bleed all over your new shirt."

The Wallmaker's son turned to regard his apprentice brother. If possible he looked even more tired than the night before. At least he was eating. Picking half-heartedly at the

"I hate airships."

Nalir snorted, "You used to live in one."

"The Castle wasn't an airship. It was more of a flying trash heap."

"Suddenly your room makes perfect sense."

"Drink your tea." Markl scowled as a thin smirk tugged at the corners of the thin wizard's mouth.

"It smells terrible." He wrinkled his nose, pushing it away.

"It's supposed to. Theresa made it just for you."

Nalir blinked, looking at the cup askance, "How do you know that?"

"Does that look like china from the Royal Kitchens?!"

The cup was hand thrown, thick walled, and glazed in green. Sturdy was the only words that came to mind. You could probably stand on it and it wouldn't break.

Nalir was marveling as he picked up the mug, "How the blazes did she get it on the tray?"

Markl tried to hide his anger, but his reply came out snappish all the same, "She tracks down the servant responsible for the delivery, bribes them to wait for her and slips it on there before it comes up!"

His apprentice brother was quiet for a long moment. And Markl was getting very good at reading this considering pauses. A lecture was coming. One he didn't need.

"Just don't, okay Nalir!?" He growled, throwing up his hands, turning to pace a well traveled path along the edge of the rug, "I know I screwed up! I botched things with Theresa big time!" Suddenly he fell very still, staring at his hands. Farmer's hands. "I… I don't know what's wrong with me!?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," Nalir answered with a gentleness he rarely used, which was perhaps the only reason Markl listened, "This is possibly the single most important decision in your life. There's nothing wrong with being scared by that. It shows the true depth of your feeling."

"What am I going to do!?" Face in hands, he sank into the nearest chair, "I've never seen her so angry. What's worse, I don't even understand why she's angry."

Nalir let out a long slow breath, and Mark cast a sideways glance at the red haired wizard. He had his eyes closed, and a muscle was jumping at the back of his clenched jaw. The Mardan was pissed, but keeping it together. Patience did not come easily to Nalir. But today his apprentice brother was doling it out to him in spades.

"You're going to be stuck on an airship together for nearly two days. That's ample time to track her down and apologize, even if you don't know why you're apologizing. Then ask her why she's angry and actually listen to her."

"But I did listen to her-"

"No you didn't!" Nalir cut him off, pointing a skinny finger at him, "You interrupted her when she started. Then you shuffling about looking at the door or the floor the entire time she was talking, waiting for her to be done being mad so you could try and make her feel better. But you weren't listening!"

"You were watching us?"

Nalir's cheeks went beet red. So did that spot on his neck. And he looked away, inspecting the cuticles on his right hand, "Yes. I'm sorry."

Markl stared, not sure how to feel. "Why?"

"_I don't know why_!" Nalir snarled, throwing his hands up. "Because I wanted to make sure you were alright. I heard you shouting. Do you know how hard it's hard to turn things out after listening in for so long!?"

"No. It's okay. I'm kinda glad. 'Cause I'm really lost on this one."

His apprentice brother fell very still, staring at him cryptically, like he was trying to decide whether or not to say something. He looked about ready to be torn in two.

"Whatever it is, Nalir, out with it. Better out than in."

"Do you love her?" The Mardan blurted out.

He hadn't been expecting that. And it was his turn to flush as he stood, turning away. Pacing again. Coming back to the window again and again. Staring out at the gardens. He could see them from the north tower. And beyond them, when the skies were clear, he could see the tiny snow capped teeth of the Wastes.

He flinched as Nalir started up again, dead serious, "You need to be able to answer that question before you get on that airship. Markl… Markl!"

"I know!" He snapped, turning to face his apprentice brother.

Nalir had the healer's cup, watching as he took a sip of the tea. His emerald eyes popped open. And he swallowed audibly.

"That bad, huh?"

Much to his surprise, Nalir took another sip, looking past him, out the window. "Actually, it's quite good. She put honey in it."

"Really!? Wow… She definitely doesn't hate you, my friend."

Markl's grin dried up as the Mardan dropped the cup. It bounced on the table top, spilling hot tea all over the papers neatly piled in front of the red-haired wizard. Nalir's chair fell over as he jolted to his feet, both hands on his head, eyes pale and very, very far away.

"_Shit!"_ Nalir never swore, _"Shit, shit, shit!_

"What!?_ What!?_" Markl rushed forward, grabbing the little wizard by the shoulders, barely resisting the urge to shake him. His apprentice brother finally looked at him instead of through him.

"River Daemons are claiming the flooded southern basin. They're harassing the Wizard Guards trying to fix the broken dykes. Barimus says they don't understand the concept of evacuation. Apparently violence has been avoided thus far, but antagonism is mounting."

"Where?"

Nalir's eyes went pale, "Just north of Loushire."

He knew exactly where. It was the township up the river from Porthaven. In two portal jumps he could be there under a half-hour. He knew one of the daemons who lived in the delta at the base of the river. The nyad might be willing to lend her aid. Anxious plans swirled in his head as he strode towards the door.

"I have to go."

Something caught him as he went by, yanking him to a halt. "Hold it, you fool! Airship is leaving in less than an hour!

Markl came to a halt, staring at his furious apprentice brother.

"You could be gone for days! Can't Howl go instead!?"

Markl stared at the blue section of the portal dial, "If he's in the beyond, finding Howl could take days. River Daemons won't listen to Calcifer. I have to go now before this blows up."

Nalir hauled him back again. He was a lot stronger than he looked, "But what about Theresa?"

It was his turn to feel torn in half.

"Will you go with her?" Markl grabbed Nalir's arm.

"W-wha!?"

The Mardan drew himself up, sputtering as he pulled away, "I can't just leave, I have duties that require I remain here. Theresa is more capable than you all give her credit for. She can take care of herself."

"Please!" Markl cut him off, pleading, "I don't want her to go by herself. You're one of the few people I trust to take care of her."

Nalir looked about ready to hit him. And Markl was prepared to let him if it meant he'd agree. Somehow the Mardan checked his ire, growing still and disquieted. But his acceptance was as clear as Suliman's crystal.

"You're an idiot, Markl. You know that?"

It was as close to yes as he was going to get.

"Thank you! Thank you, Nalir." With that the Wallmaker's son bolted for the door, turning the portal latch to blue.

***

"Markl!? What the hell!?"

Nalir heard Calcifer yelp from the top of the familiar stone stairs just as the door slammed shut behind Markl. He stood there staring at the door for a long moment, trying to overlook the gravity of the situation.

Another woman might not have forgiven Markl for this.

As calmly as possible, he conjured his work papers into the air, drying them with a single thought, packing them away with decisive flicks of his hands. But Suliman's crystal he trusted only to his hands. Placing it in its trunk with his files, he pressed the box with his hands until it compressed and shrank small enough to pop into his robe pocket. He barely had enough time to retrieve some winter garments before he heard through his contact points that a series of troubled Wizard Guards looking for the Wallmaker's son.

Muffled from head to toe in his heaviest black cloak, Nalir strode out into the freezing rain, heading across the yard for the distant humming engines of the airship. The craft was battened down and ready to take off in spite of the weather. And a be-slickered guard greeted him at the entry point to the loading bay, saluting him smartly.

"Sir!"

"A change of plan, Guardsman!" Nalir called over the deafening roar of the motors, "The Wallmaker's Son has been called by the Royal Sorcerer to the South Basin on an urgent mission. I will stand in his place and accompany Lady Theresa to Marda, Tyrn, and back! Inform the King and Tri-Council of the changes."

"Very good, my Lord!" The guard bowed, waving him up into the loading desk. The wind dropped away as he cleared the hatch, transitioning into the storage bay. Crates stacked upon crates, looming among great paddocks of lashed down bushels and barrels. The smell of dried grain and sharp cheese wafted among the sharper stink of burning oils and effervescent magic.

But then he smelled something else: camphor and cinnamon.

Turning, Nalir looked down the walkway to the hatch leading into the ship interior. Theresa stood in the doorway, outlined with light from behind. No other woman besides the Herbalist would be caught dead wearing baggy trousers. And Nalir knew for a fact that Martha was currently entrenched in a Council meeting.

"Alright! Close her up!" One of the crew called from above.

The great metal plank behind him jostled, groaning and vibrating as it lifted up and locked into place, darkening the interior until he could see Theresa's face. She wasn't furious, as he expected her to be.

Instead she looked tired. And incredibly sad.

Without a word she turned away, disappearing into the interior.

Nalir did not follow. Instead he made his way to the King's Office; the grandest of chambers build into each of ships in the Royal Ingarian Fleet. Crewman snapped to attention as he passed; bowing and saluting. He ignored them; pushing forward until he reached the place he would spend the entirety of their journey. Busying himself with laying out his papers, organizing the space and reconnecting with his contact relays back at the Royal Palace. Anything to keep him from thinking about the fact that he was going back to Marda.

But his hands shook with every movement he made.

Making it impossible to lift Suliman's Orb from its case.

Markl didn't know what he was asking by making him stand in his place.

Nalir had not been to Marda since he and his mother left for Tyrn as political refugees, fleeing the bombed out ruins of their home as Magi killed Magi during the Ingarian-Mardan War. They hyphened the name of that fight now, spreading the culpability. Although in Marda they called it the Ingarian-Mardan war. And in Ingary? The Mardan-Ingarian. Funny how the billing went when it came to blame. But like all wars, it was a stupid one to begin with. What did it matter what it was called. And then of all places, Merra brought him to Ingary while acting as an ambassador of peace, joining the Council and enrolling him in the Ingarian Academy of Sorcery.

That changed little the fact that his father way alive the last time his feet touched his native soil.

Nalir had to grip the edge of the table as the ship suddenly began to rise. The surface was magicked so that nothing would roll or fly free. Beyond the wall of glass to his left, the ground drifted away, slowly replaced by dome of angry grey filled the world beyond the windows. Rain and sleet beat against the surface, shattering his composure.

He was forced to sit down before his knees gave out.

Luckily a sea of work stretched out in front of him.

In which he gratefully drowned himself.

By the time a knock came at the office door snow rushed against the windows. And the highest crags of the Wastes slowly drifted by beyond the observation desk outside. Theresa left herself in. Somehow she managed to bind all her unruly red hair in a single tight twist that stuffed into the back of her uniform. It was a variety of Healer Garb he had yet to see, a heavy moss green suiting with shiny brass buttons that looked very official and oddly militaristic. The arms of the Tri-Kingdom Council pinned to the left lapel.

Sturdy was the only words that came to mind.

Still, she looked tired. And no more at peace than earlier.

Nalir looked up from a conversation back at the Royal Palace and cut things short as the Herbalist Apprentice sat at the very opposite end of the table, looking out the window at the snow. She was wearing leather gloves. They creaked as she tightened her hands into fists. They sat there quietly for a long while, watching the ice swirl by without a sound as the sky darkened towards night.

Nalir had to clear his throat before he spoke, "If I had my way, I would have let you go by yourself."

She flashed a wan smile, "Was it important then? Whatever his reason?"

"Yes." Nalir assured her, and then lied without hesitation, "He asked me to apologize profusely and tell you he promises to make this up to you in anyway he can one you return."

Theresa picked at the table top, "That doesn't sound like Markl. But thank you for the message, anyway."

"He really is sorry." He pressed, unnerved by her reserved calm. He was expecting something similar to the supply room. At least some yelling or perhaps a broken chair.

"I know, Nalir." Theresa interrupted, folding her hands in a very business-like manner. "He's just doing his job. So are you. So am I. Nothing to apologize for."

Silence stretched between them, filled with the distant hum of engines.

"Nice suit." Nalir blurted out. Someone about it captivated his memory.

"Oh." She flushed to match her hair, unconsciously touching the emblem on her shoulder, as if proud of it, "Martha found it in a storage closet. It's an old military uniform for the Healers Guild from back during the Ingarian-Mardan War. The Guard just updated it with the new arms."

His memory jogged and he fell very still, remembering the uniform. There had been one with the soldiers that pulled he and his mother from the rubble that had once been their home.

"So you are a Mardan after all." It was more of a statement than a question. And one he should have kept to himself.

"Excuse me?" Theresa turned away from the windows.

"Sorry." He muttered, "Never mind."

"No." Her keen green eyes had him pinned in place, "What makes you think I'm from Marda?"

"Beside your flame red hair and emerald green eyes, you called it the _Ingarian_-Mardan War. Only Mardan's do that."

"So what if I'm from Marda?" She shot back defensively.

"Forget it!" He snapped back, "I didn't mean to offend you in any way."

Theresa let out a gusty sigh, leaning forward, "No, I'm sorry. I'm the one being rude. Why'd you ask?"

Nalir looked back as his work. Not looking help. It felt wrong to be talking about this, but he felt he might fly to piece like if he didn't talk to someone. And talking to her was turning out to be easier than he thought.

"Is it hard? Going back?"

"Dunno…" She had pulled a curl loose from her tight knot and was twisting it through her fingers, "Never been back before."

"Me neither. Apparently I have cousins."

"Yeah?" She perked up a bit.

"I don't know anything about them," He frowned out the window, "I don't even know where to find them."

Theresa followed his gaze out the window, her green eyes troubled.

"Was it bad for you? Back then?"

"Yes… I… I lost my father."

"I'm sorry." She was looking at him, understanding bright in her gaze.

Nervousness was tightening his chest, and he stumbled over the beginnings of a cough, trying to hide his discomfort.

"What about you?"

"I lost everyone." She replied all too easily. The way someone talks about an old hurt that never goes away. It was all too familiar to the pain in his chest. But she veered away from the past as the concern in her eyes turned clinical, "How's your cough?"

"The tea helped." He stifled another catch in his breath, "Thank you."

"What was that?" She stood with a hand to her ear, coming down the table towards him as the engines accelerated, and humming louder.

"I said, thank you!" Nalir called louder, even she was right next to him.

But the hum was growing even louder, turning shrill. Until an unnerving vibration went rattling through the floors, jarring its way up the walls and into the ceiling. Nalir and Theresa froze as the hum of the motors suddenly cut out with a hollow choke. Leaving terrifying swallowing silence in its wake. Within the emptiness that bathed him in chilly dread, a deafening moan sounded deep in the airship. Wrenching, screaming steel.

An explosion rocked the room, hurling them to the floor.

Warning sirens erupted through the snarling roar.

And Theresa screeched just as the windows detonated, spraying them with icy glass. The floor heaved and buckled. Splitting as the ship began listing hard to the left, spilling any furniture that wasn't bolted to the floor sliding out the windows. But they caught themselves on the legs of the conference table, cringing from the maps and cabinets that jumped off the walls above them.

"_Fly you stupid wizard!"_ Theresa yelled over the screaming wind.

"_I can't! I can't fly!"_ He thundered back, clinging to the table leg as the yawning gray opened up beneath his feet.

Just as the room tore in half.

Dissolving into the swirls of white.

Tossing him out into the empty freezing sky.


	2. Chapter 2

Well... '.'*

One of my readers encouraged me a while back to write a more _romantic_ scene. I had always intended this story to be more grown up but FanFiction doesn't permit MA content. If you would like to read the uncensored chapter, visit the version of the story hosted on Media Miner: .org/fanfic/view_/159746/

* * *

Falling.

Falling into nothing.

Spinning so swiftly he couldn't think. Couldn't breath. Everything was every which way at once. And he was empty. Until he broke through the clouds. A moment of clarity struck him as the mountains resolved out of the storm. The great toothy points of granite and ice that grew larger with every passing second as the shrieking wind tore at his face, yanking his hair, ripping at his clothes, pulling him down. Down. And quietly he watched oblivion rush up to meet him.

Until something dropped past him like a stone.

In the waning light he watched it paused beneath him.

Nalir saw her then. Her hair caught up like a pennant of fire.

Theresa rolled over onto her back, looking right up at him.

Effortlessly riding the air as though she was flying.

But she wasn't flying.

She was falling.

Just like him.

Throwing out her arms and legs, the wind caught her, hurled her up to meet him, like the distant earth waiting for him below. She grabbed as they collided; catching his arm, struggling to pull him to her as the wind buffeted and bucked them apart.

_"Hold on!"_ She screamed, scrambling with something at her waist.

A tickle of magic shivered through Nalir as Theresa pulled a long garden hoe from her pocket. They stabilized the moment she threw her leg over the pole. He followed suit, arms wrapped around her middle as she yanked up on the handle with all her might. But still they dropped. The slopes of the mountains suddenly pushing back the sky as they lifted around them.

"_We're going to fast!"_ Theresa yelled in dismay, _"I can't stop!"_

Nalir grabbed the post and pulled with her.

Letting his will uncurl through his hands.

Magic flowed through him in bright vines of light.

But there were no longer falling.

Curving instead.

And the insides of his chest pressed inward dizzyingly as the sky seemed the crush down from above.

"_That's it! Keep doing whatever you're doing!"_

Theresa was leaning low over the haft of the garden hoe, skillfully navigating the punches of wing that crashed off the dangerous flats of the mountains below. His heart sank as they missed the nearest plateau, tipping over the edge. Herbalist's Apprentice kicked off a cliff face that tore up beside them, pushing them away from the jagged arms of stone.

A sea of white waited at the bottom of the chasm.

And they dropped low, pulling up at the last minute so the ice surged by his feet, following the frozen belly of the canyon. Nalir's heart leapt into his mouth as the ground hovered so close. Although it jolted back into a free fall of fear as Theresa put out her feet, skiing the ice with her heavy boots, trying to slow even more. Because they were still going much to fast.

She screamed as her toe caught something in the drifts.

They flipped, swatted to the ground, tossed from the hoe.

The world went white as he collided with terra firma.

Slowly, Nalir realized he was staring at the darkening sky. Boiling clouds surged over the edges of the canyon above. Bitter cold bit at him from behind. But he lay there motionless, half buried in snow, afraid to move. Because the world still seemed to rush by and Nalir was afraid he was still falling.

"Nalir!?" Theresa gasped anxiously. Dusting him with snow as she bent over him. Now that her hat was gone her hair returned to its wild state. It invaded his face, ticking his nose.

"A-are y-you alright-t-t?" He managed to stammer, attempting to upright himself. But he gasped as waves of pain rocked through his skull.

"No, no. Stay still." Something was moved against his scalp and it wasn't her gentle hands. "I think you hit your head on something."

"I think it was a mountain." Nalir pointed blindly, "That one."

"Goose." She managed a weak smile; put his hand back to his chest, "Can you feel your feet, Nalir?"

"I can't feel anything right now. I'm still spinning."

Fear pinched her face, wild in her eyes. Her hands closed on his insistently, "This is important, Nalir! Can you move your feet!?"

"Of course I can." He wheezed irritably, folding up his knees as proof.

"Thank the Gods." Theresa dropped her head onto his chest, points of hot wetness burning the bare skin of his freezing hands.

He sat up then, putting his arms around her. And she burrowed into him, her arms tightening around his waist as though she was afraid she'd be torn away. But a sound called his eyes back to the sky. Something loud enough to be heard above the wind. A petulant whine that grew louder and louder, until the air itself was vibrating with its passing. Theresa lifted her head, falling stock still as the snow clouds over the head of the canyon suddenly went dark. Something passed through the mists, mirroring the sky incandescent with yellow orange fire.

"No…" Theresa was on her feet, waving as if she could direct them to safety, _"No! NO!"_

But the shape plummeted onward, screaming as it arched by. And the canyon rocked as the dying airship collided with something in the distance. Red blossomed up, dissolving the veiling clouds as a shock wave heaved through the ground.

Nalir screamed as the clouds turned black and heavy with belching smoke.

Bent and clutching at his head.

Because he heard them in their last moments.

Heard them scream in terror and agony.

Felt them die as they winked out.

Theresa caught him as he foundered, holding him upright as he cast about, trying to find a place to put the pain that filled him utterly. But there was nowhere.

"_Nalir!"_

The panic in her voice tore him away from the horrors in his head. And he only then noticed that the ground was still vibrating. Humming so violently that the frigid kernels of ice were leveling out, filling in where their feet had left impressions. And a wind was roaring down from the north, bringing with it the stink of burning metal. Theresa was pointing. Through the snow he saw the boiling wall of ice as it surged down the mountain slope, pouring over the edges of the canyon.

Coming right at them.

Too high and too fast to escape.

Nalir shoved Theresa behind him just as the wave of ice reared over them, roaring like the daemon above the shielding of the Royal Palace years ago. He'd been helpless then. Shielding magic was not his forte. And because of his weakness he'd almost lost his mother. But that was a long time ago.

And he had been practicing.

Punching his hands up at the avalanche, the Mardan sorcerer snapped a shield into place just as the light blotted out, replaced by the bone grinding snarls of the heaving landslide. The force of it was overwhelming. It crushed him to his knees, wearing away at the edges of his shield.

Pressing in from all sides.

Like the eerie premonition he'd felt in his Mother's hallway.

Still he fought, straining to hold it back.

Even as it drove him down into the snow.

Dragging him backwards.

Slowly burying him in the ground.

It was too much.

Too much to hold back.

He wasn't strong enough.

But he had to be.

Because she was behind him.

Her arms wrapped around his middle.

Pulling every last stitch of strength he could summon, Nalir anchored his magic into the rocks below and shoved back. Not with brute force, but finesse. Smoothing the snow as it coursed by overhead. Willing it to arch by and find the path of least resistance. Things popped inside his head as hot wetness poured from his nose. But it was working. He felt the erosion on the boundaries dwindle as he shifted the shield, letting it become a teardrop rather than a circle. The pressure eased overhead as the roaring of the passing snow quieted.

Growing more distant.

Until it stopped.

Or perhaps he just passed out.

***

Theresa was screaming.

And Nalir jolted awake only to find bare stone under his head.

Pitch black greeted his open his eyes.

_"We're trapped!"_ She shrilled madly, in an absolutely panic, _"Help! Help!"_

"Theresa!?" He grabbed at her as she nearly trampled him, "Theresa, calm down!"

The herbalist's apprentice screamed again, tripping on him, flailing. She punched him right in the face. And Nalir went down as firecrackers sparkled in his eyes. He stayed there as swimming agony sloshed inside his head. It intensified to the point of torture as he gathered up the tiniest splinter of magic, tossing the spark above him.

Icy walls reflected the mage light.

Doming over them like a perfect sheet of opaque glass.

Just enough room to stand.

The shielding must have compacted the snow as it pushed them down all the way to the ground. Lucky for them, otherwise they would have been crushed when he passed out. Theresa was pressed against the far wall, dusted with snow as if she'd rolled in flour. Blinking rapidly as she shielded her eyes from the tiny light. And her blind panic melted.

"Nalir!" And she scrambled to his side, face pinched and pale with disquiet. "You're bleeding!"

He put a shaking hand to his face. It came away sticky.

"That happens…"

She cringed into him as the mage light flickered, grabbing his arm.

"N-no! Don't let it go out!

"Please…" Nalir rasped, "Please don't touch me. Everything hurts."

"I'm sorry…" She snatched back her hands, holding herself as she shivering convulsively. Her eyes all whites in the gloom, shimmering with terror. "I… I don't like the d-dark!"

It did not bother Nalir so much.

Neither did the close walls of the thought of everything above them.

But then again, this was not the first time he'd been buried alive.

What did bother him was the bitter taste of the air and the labored sounds of Theresa's breathing. And cold understand seeped through him as though the frost had spread.

"Theresa." He began gently, smoothing his hand over hers, "I need you to calm down. Try to slow your breathing. Take shallow breaths. Otherwise we're going to run out of air very quickly."

"We're going to die…" She whispered, folding in on herself.

"Were are not going to die!" He snapped. Theresa started; look at him like he'd slapped her. At least he had her attention. "Remember, you've faced much worse than this. Now pull yourself together!"

Anger hardened her gaze as she stilled.

Good.

It was a far better emotion than fear.

She didn't help him as he struggled upright; clenching his teeth against nausea that kicked him in the stomach as his vision swam. Nalir managed to put his hand on the dome wall. It was rock solid. Luck was with them again.

"I need to make an air hole." He explained shortly as the burn in his chest ignited. Stealing his words as he choked and coughed, "The dome is strong right now... But piercing the walls might compromise that… I… don't know how much snow is above us."

"Can't you just call for help?"

"We'll suffocate before they come."

She went as white as the walls, but kept herself in check.

"What can I do?" She whispered earnestly.

"Just stay back." He pointed at the fat end of the teardrop, "There. That's where it's strongest."

Theresa folded herself up in the corner, eyeing him nervously.

"Be careful."

"I am always careful." Nalir muttered absently

They needed a hole about the size of a Crown. But it had to be in just the right spot. He did the math in his head, calculating the exact center of the dome. Although he was having difficult holding still. Shivers wracked his body, making it more and more impossible not to cough.

Nalir found a rock about the size of the Ingarian coin and put it on the ground directly below the spot. Inside the pebble he planted an ember of magic and ignited it with his will. Theresa gasped as the rock began to glow. The heat condensing under his concentration, growing hotter and hotter until it turned molten, retaining its shape only because he willed it to.

His vision swam dizzily as blood trickled from his nose.

But he had to do this.

Otherwise she would die.

Slamming his hand onto the ground, the molten stone shot off the ground like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. It hissed like a cat at it penetrated the ceiling, and Nalir chased it with his mind, forcing it faster, higher. Steam poured from the tiny hole, filling the dome with warmth. And all at once his ears popped as the pressure changed.

Cold air and a sprinkling of snow filtered down the hole.

"You did it!" Theresa cheered.

But he didn't hear her.

The ground tipped as the gray sparklers returned.

And he fell back into the dark.

***

When Nalir work up he was warm.

Well, warm_er._

At least no one was screaming.

Lights swam in front of his eyes as he stirred. One light actually. A candle? But arms tightened around him. Willing him to be still. Not that he wanted to move. Every fiber of his body ached. Especially his head.

"Its okay, Nalir. I got you."

Theresa's voice ticked against his ear. He could hear her heartbeat under his ear. It was swift with the worry that tightened her voice. Although the brass buttons of her jacket prodded at his ribs, he was very comfortable. Then he realized he was curled up against her breast, a soft swell rising and falling beneath his cheek. Somehow he couldn't manage to summon the strength to be mortified.

"Are you alright?" He croaked thru a cough that rattled his whole body.

"That's the second time you've asked me that." She adjusted the blanket that covered them both

"Why does it smell like an herb closet?"

Sharp green smells were itching his nose, making him want to sneeze.

"It smells like an herb closet because we're in one."

"What?"

Nalir lifted his head just enough to take in their surrounding, which where definitely not under forty feet of ice. As Theresa said, they were tucked into the corner of a supply closet. The space was about four feet deep, four feet wide, and nine feet tall. A candle was burning on an up-turned box beside them. And the shelves overhead were bulging with blankets, bandages, baskets, bushels, and bottles of every color and shape imaginable. Hoes, rakes, and shovels hung on the opposite wall. A pair of mud boots poked from a large bucket. The heels gaping open like fish at the market. He tried not to look at the delicate objects hanging from clothes lines overhead.

Frowning he wiggled his frozen toes. His feet were wedged against the wooden door. And he could feel the cold streaming under the threshold.

"Where are we?"

"In my pocket lining." She explained clumsily, "I tore it out of course."

"Huh?"

"A while back Markl gave me a _special_ pocket Uncle Barimus gave him on his 13th birthday. Technically I'm not supposed to have it because I'm not a Magi. So it stitched it into the lining of my pants to try and hide it."

"You have an entire closet in your pocket?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Nalir replied by curling in on himself as a dry hack seized him, leaving him dizzy and sick with nausea. All the while Theresa held him, much like Merra had. But this felt entirely different. Her hands were warm. And with the herbalist's apprentice he actually felt safe.

"You fly like a madwoman," he rasped.

"Well you fall like a stone!" She shot back hotly.

And Nalir let out a weary sigh, trying to pull his smart ass mouth in check. "What I'm trying to say, and botching royally, is thank you." He repeated it earnestly, "Thank you, Lady Theresa, for saving my life."

She fidgeted beneath him, as if not quite sure to make of that.

"So, we're even."

"I haven't saved us yet."

"You will." She answered without hesitation, "I have faith in you."

At least someone did.

It brought a lump into his throat which made him feel exceedingly childish. Hastily he pushed away. But a door had been opened there. Given their current predicament, what was the harm in talking? More and more Nalir was realizing he actually _liked_ talking to Theresa. She was smart and to the point.

"I used to think you hated me."

"You could say the same in reverse."

"I never hated you. When I was younger I was absolutely terrified of you. Especially Lady Martha. But I never hated either of you."

She snorted, making his cheeks burn as her chest rose and fell.

"Well… I did try to take off your head with a garden hoe. I'm not going to say you made it easy for us to like you."

Nalir managed a wan smile, "I am a bit of an ass, aren't I?"

"You said it." She was trying not to smile, "Not me."

"I _am_ trying…" He added diffidently.

"I know. We see it." Again, she replied without hesitation, "Markl especially, but he spends the most time with you."

All kinds of peculiar emotions began percolating in Nalir's chest: good and bad. But it was hard to break old habits. And anger came bubbling through at the forefront, making him cough and retch.

"I wish he'd been with you instead of me! You wouldn't be here right now! You'd be safe! Home! Not stuck here buried under feet of snow with a _useless_ magus who can't even fly."

"Nalir," She began softly, "I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you."

"But I can't get us out of here!" He was shivering violently now, "There's probably good forty or fifty feet of snow piled on us. I can't move all that!"

"And I can't get us out of here either!" She cut him off, holding him tighter as his teeth chattered audibly, "But you can do things I can't. Like call them here to get us. Markl says you can mindspeak all the way to Tyrn. How many Magi can do that?"

"Only me…"

Gods, sometimes he was such an idiot.

With a long slow breath, Nalir opened up his mind, making ready to reach out to Master Barimus. Only to encounter a sea of pain. He gasped and reeled as he fell over against the floor, clutching at his head. Something fell from above as Theresa pawed through the shelves, coming back with a gauze pad.

"You're bleeding again!"

He took the cloth and pinched it over his nose

"I… I can't… I can't hear anything! There's just static inside my head!"

"I'm more worried about you." She tried to turn his face to her, "Your nose bleeds are becoming more frequent."

He batted her hands away, grabbing them so he could get her to sit still, "You don't understand, Theresa. I _can't_ hear them! That means I can't call to them. I can't tell them where we are!"

That took a moment to sink in for them both.

And suddenly it was Theresa who was holding his hands.

They were shaking to match the rest of him. But not because of the cold. The Herbalist's Apprentice had gone all white again as well, trying not to let it show, being brave for him. She put the blanket back over his shoulders, settling in beside him.

"They'll find us, Nalir. They have to."

***

Merra burst into Yewin's office.

She let herself in downstairs too, disarming the alarms without difficulty.

Yewin's gifts were not strong in enchantments.

At his desk the fat bearded Magi looked anything but jolly in his Healer greens. Many compared him to Father Winter. He decked himself in holly and ivy on the Solstice, handing out toys and goodies to the youngest apprentices. But Merra knew the better of his blithe pretenses. Yewin was a snake through and through.

But as it was he was bent over his desk, face in hands. Shoulders knotted up with anxiety. And he looked up in surprise as she barged in. Caught him off guard. Enough so that he had to scramble to shield as she hurled two fist-fulls of fire right at his face.

Sparks exploded through the room,

Burning the furniture, smoldering the rug, and singing the walls.

His chair toppled backwards under the impact.

Sending him ass over feet onto the floor.

"_WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"_ She screeched.

Surprisingly lithely for a man of his size, Yewin righted just in time to catch her fire, smothering the blaze between his hands before tossing them out. A wall of force slammed her back against the wall, holding her there, pinned like a butterfly. Yewin was a far better offensive sorcerer than she. That she managed to deal even a single blow was astonishing.

"Calm yourself, woman!" He barked, eyes blazing with fury, "The servants will hear!"

_"My only son! My Nalir!"_ She seethed, struggling to free herself, but his will was stronger in spite of the disquiet pinching his round countenance.

"It was _not_ supposed to be _him_!" He snarled back, finally letting her drop to the floor. Her black skirts pooling around her thin frame. Black for her dead husband. And now perhaps for her son.

And he waved off her pain. "You went along willingly when we first arranged Nalir to become Barimus' successor! And you know as well as I do that he will never choose Nalir as long as the Wallmaker's son is a candidate."

"Involving the Herbalist's Apprentice was never part of the agreement!"

"_How else was I to secure the boy's presence_!?" He rounded on her with clenched fists, and his façade cracked, showing an edge of the monster beneath. Merra cringed back against the wall as Yewin stood over her. Nothing but cold and calculating in his eyes. No remorse.

"I never agreed to _murder_! Politics and intrigue, yes! But _never_ murder!"

He looked on her outburst with open disgust. "All's fair in love and war, my dear Merra."

"We're not at war, Yewin." She spat back, "Or have _you_ forgotten!?"

"Quite the contrary, my dear. We are at war. And we're loosing. Every day the authority of the Council is undermined by the _common_ and the _monstrous_, we're at war. Ingary is a festering wound. It must be lanced before the sickness spreads and consumes us all."

That zealous light was in his eyes again. Merra shivered before it, turning back to her sorrow. Crying openly. Not caring if Yewin saw.

"_My boy… My beautiful boy…"_

"There is still a chance they live." Yewin turned away, grinding out the embers eating at his rug, "Apparently that girl had flight charmed artifact."

"If he is dead then I will kill you myself." She hissed, closing her fists as though his fat neck were between them, "Or worse… Perhaps I'll give you to the Red Wizard!?"

He paused.

Fixing her with a serene smile that did not match his treacherous eyes.

"Betray me and we will both go to the cell block!"

"_What makes you think I care anymore!?"_

"Oh, you care, Merra." Nonchalantly he turned back to stamping out embers, "Because I gambled and failed. The error _will_ be discovered. We must keep our wits about us lest _we_ be discovered. We're still Mardan. We may go to prison. But, if you son lives and we are discovered, _he_ will go to the gallows."

***

"When we get home I'm going to put a real brazier in here." Theresa leaned over to poke the fire with an unbent coat hanger, "And a whole crate of charcoal."

The candles were gone, although there was plenty to burn in the closet. But they couldn't build anything too big and risk damaging the dome. Theresa rigged a little fire in the bottom of her steel yard bucket suspended from a tripod of rakes and shovels. Nalir'd supplied the starting spark. But it meant they had to keep the closet door cracked. And the cold poured in from outside, radiating through the walls, ceiling, and floor. Their breath stood out in great white plumes.

She was boiling snow in a small pot, gathered from the piles outside. Brewing a soup cobbled from the few edibles in the closet's small larder. Carrots, herbs, and a glass jar of peas. It smelled really good.

"If Markl were here…"

"Will you stop saying that!?" Theresa snapped, vigorously going to work on grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle, pausing from time to time to warm her hands around the bucket, "Markl's not perfect if you haven't noticed!"

Nalir surprised himself with the sudden urge to defend his apprentice brother, "He's just afraid. You know that. He's always been reticent. And last I check he has absolutely no experience with these things."

Theresa went flame red to match her hair, "Don't make excuses for him. And I'm not talking about _that_."

"Then what are you talking about?"

She let out a ragged sigh, mixing the herbs into a cup of water she'd set aside, "Shut up and drink this."

He took the mug and sipped the bitter medicine, trying not to make a face, "I'll drink this, but I won't shut up."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that!?"

"We've already established that, Lady Theresa."

"Will you stop calling me that!?"

"Why?" He shot back just as hotly, "I think it's about time people started thinking of you as someone other than the Herbalist's apprentice."

Nalir tried not to look smug as she gaped at him, suddenly finding herself without words. Theresa very quickly busied herself with feeding the fire and stirring the soup. Then she stood and fussed with the shelves, straightening things that had no need of being straightened.

"Back in the garden you said something that made no sense."

"Oh?" He replied archly, almost gagging on the green medicine.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to be an ass!?" She tossed a wadded up hand towel at him.

"Sorry…" He feigned meekness, handing back the cloth. "I'll be good."

"I doubt that." Theresa snorted, although she did smile if only for a moment, folding the towel and putting it away, "You said you understood. What did you mean?"

Nalir blanched. Me and my big mouth. And he smoothed at his tangled hair, self consciously straightening his robes.

"Well?" She pressed, crossing her arms.

"Patience, woman! DO you know how hard it is for me to talk about these things!? What I meant was I know what its like to be stuck some place you don't want to be! And I understand what its like to have the people you care about most depending on your remaining exactly where you are."

She blinked, frowning, "Nalir, you're not making a lick of sense."

"I don't want to be Royal Sorcerer! There! That plain enough for you!?"

Theresa was staring at him in shock. Heat climbed up into his cheeks as anxiety tightened his chest. He'd said too much.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"But… But what about that mess back at the end of the Daemon War?"

"My mother's doing. Not mine." He remarked frostily

"How could you be unhappy? I've never seen Barimus treat you poorly."

Nalir cut her off, continuing with all the refined indifference he'd learned from Merra. It was the only way to hide the pain he was really feeling.

"And you never will! Master Barimus and Lady Martha are kinder to me than my own mother. Master Barimus accepts me, but he does not _want_ me! He had _never_ wanted me. You have no idea what he did to avoid accepting me! But I know! I know what I cost him. I'm a burden on them both! Do you know what that's like? To have a Master who doesn't want you?!"

"But… But you could give it up if you don't want it, right? You don't have to be Barimus' apprentice."

"Do you really think I'm that cruel!?" Nalir snapped, his temper getting the better of him. Theresa jumped, looking utterly lost.

"I don't understand…"

"Markl doesn't want to be Royal Sorcerer either! If I leave he's stuck with it. The Wallmaker already has Akarshan half-way in the Otherworld. Great black bricks, do you really think I'd do that to him!? He can barely _live_ in the palace let alone _function_ during Court." Nalir closed his eyes, "One day Master Barimus will see that. Will see how unhappy this is making Markl. I just hope it's soon."

"But… But what about you?"

"Sometimes we don't get what we want, now do we?"

She started as he handed back the very words she's used with Markl. Wordlessly she sat down beside him, staring long and hard at the fire.

"I… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"My life has never been my own. I've learned to live with that." Nalir shrugged, trying not to feel like a liar. Yes, he'd learned to live with it. But it was slowly but surely eating him away. "But I'm not the only one with this problem." Nalir sniffed and smelled copper, dabbing again at his bloody nose, "So be patience with Markl."

"I don't know if I can." She whispered, sounding eternally sad.

"Oh?" Nalir's insides went cold as he tried not to look askance at the red-haired woman. There was the weary look she'd worn in the loading bay when he came aboard in Markl's place.

"I've been patient for six years, Nalir." She muttered angrily, picked out one of her curls, running it back and forth around a finger, "I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of doing all the work! You know I've only kissed him once!? When I was thirteen! And _I_ kissed _him_! _Six_ years ago! I'm an old maid by Ingarian standards!"

Nalir flushed, avoiding looking at her, "No… I wasn't aware of that. But he is so very shy."

"Around everybody else, yes! But he's not with me. Markl doesn't want things to change, because the way things are between us right now, they're easy and safe. But I _have_ changed! Maybe it's selfish, but I want more. I told him so too, but just like everyone else, he doesn't seem to hear me."

Theresa fed the fire, tearing pages out of an old Farmer's Almanac. Like in the boardroom, she looked tired and no more at peace. So he played the last duce left up his sleeve.

"He loves you, Theresa. You have to know that."

Theresa went very still and then chucked the whole book in the bucket. "I know he does. And I love him too. But I'm not sure if it's the right kind of love anymore."

Shit.

There was nothing he could say to that to help either of them with that.

Nalir fumbled in his sleeve for a handkerchief and held it out to her as she began snuffling.

"Thanks," She took it and wiped at her face, leaning against his shoulder as though her weariness had finally gotten the better of her, "Thanks for listening."

"I promised to take care of you. And I will." He blurted out, and then frowned awkwardly as she went very quiet, "I, ah… I hope that didn't sound condescending. Because I most certainly did not mean it that way."

"Shut up, Nalir."

"Yes, ma'am."

On a whim he lifted his arm. Wordlessly she fitted herself against his chest, tucking into the crook of his elbow. Theresa rubbed her nose against his velvet robes, like a bird tucking its beak into its wing. And a spark kindled there, spreading warmth inside him that reached beyond the tiny fire. It frightened him enough to make him consider getting up. But there was no where to go. Not that he wanted to get up. In fact, moving was the very last think Nalir wanted to do. Softly he hummed the lullaby Merra used to sing to him as a child. And she stirred against him.

"Hush, little bird..." Theresa whispered distantly, "My mother used to sing that song. My first mother. Back in Marda."

"Would you like me to sing it for you?"

"Yeah… Would you?"

She was asleep before he even reached the chorus.

***

Theresa knocked against him, jolting him awake.

The fire had gone out. And he kindled it with a spark of magic, earning himself another stomach ache. He'd drained himself nearly dry pushing back the avalanche. It would be weeks before he would be able to cast without difficulty.

The light cast hard shadows up and down the closet walls. They played back to Theresa's curls, turning them to burning coils in the dark. She'd tipped him over at some point while they were sleeping. Back to the floor and knees drawn up so he could fit diagonally with her tucked beside him. She'd annexed the blankets and his cloak, although she was putting out more heat than the fire ever had.

Once again the brass buttons of her coat were digging into his ribs.

Once again he didn't care.

But she was dreaming poorly. Making small, unhappy noises as her eyes roved back and forth beneath their lids. He smoothed his hand over her hair, marveling at how soft the mess of curls actually was.

"Nalir?" Her hand closed over the front of his robe.

"Mmmm?"

Then he realized she was still dead asleep.

Ryden talked in his sleep too. They'd shared a room at the Academy before he and Markl became apprentices. Gods above, that skinny wizard could babble all night about the stupidest things. Girls mostly. The letch.

"You're falling, Nalir… I need to catch you…"

"It's okay." He murmured soothingly, "You caught me. I'm okay."

"No, it's not!" She whimpered, "They're on fire…"

Nalir tried not to think about the explosion.

Tried not to remember the voices he'd heard screaming in his head.

But they remained in memory.

Would probably never go away.

And he would not be able to go back to sleep.

Airships were troublesome contraptions, especially sky kayaks. They exploded all the time for no reason at all other than bad steam differentials. Perambulators were just as bad. The streets of Kingsbury were full of potholes and not because of traffic. Nalir's seen his share of airborne catastrophes, but never had he seen a ship go down so swiftly. The secondary levitation systems should have kicked in. Magic was a standard fail safe. Rarely did the larger ships ever crash unless due to massive structural or magical failure. Both were present, as was evident by the craft's violent leftward list within seconds of the first blast.

Cold came creeping into his heart as his mind began to race.

Jumping ahead of him.

Until just like the images in Suliman's orb, things snapped into place.

And he knew. He just knew.

Because Markl was supposed to be on the airship.

Theresa's presence had been the seal on that bargain.

Requested by Yewin himself.

Oh, Gods… What had they done?

"Nalir?" Theresa stirred again in her sleep.

He jolted back to himself as her hand wandering across his chest, nails drawing idly at the fabric. The spark she'd planted there earlier ignited beneath her fingers. Turning his insides molten as she cuddled closer, hooking her knee over his thigh. His face burned as his hand found its way from her shoulder to the curve of her waist. His palm fit perfectly, and he barely resisted the urge to squeeze. He did, however, turn his face toward the crown of her head, breathing in the sweet spicy smell of her hair. Camphor and cinnamon. Taking a slow, shuddering breath, Nalir removed his hand and stared up at the smoke collecting at the top of the closet.

This…

This was _completely_ unexpected.

"Shit…" He murmured to himself.

Fighting the burn in his chest. But this time it had nothing to do with his cough. The pain spread quickly, like wildfire, devouring his insides, nothing stood in its wake. He was hollow after it passed. Weary and sad.

Until she took his hand and put it back on her waist.

Nalir went stock still as Theresa's head lifted from his shoulder. She was wide awake, propping herself up to stare at him. He looked back, at a loss, straining to see her liquid green eyes, to find some clue of what he should do. Her face was obscured in shadow by the mass of her curls; although her hand remained spread in the middle of his chest. He could feel each of her fingers through his robes, just like he could feel the weight of her knee on his leg.

What should he do?

Shit. _Shit!_ What should he do!?

"Theresa?"

Her name came out in a croak, an ungainly question, or perhaps a desperate plea. But for what he didn't know. Her hand lifted, stopping whatever words might have spilled out after that. And the contact sent a delicious shiver unfurling through his body, right to the pit of his stomach. Thank the gods it was dark!

Although he never expected her to lean in.

Never expected her hand to trace across his mouth, up his jaw to his neck.

Never expected her to pull him up to kiss her.

But she did.

And their lips met in the dark.

She was right. He was on fire. Sitting up to wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her against him with all the strength he could summon as the other went right to her hair, smoothing, touching. Gods, he loved touching her hair! But she nearly bowled him over as she grabbed the front of his robes and pulled right back. She was hungry. So very hungry. And he indulged her, drawing his hands up into her hair, working his mouth against hers. Until she was making small needful sounds, clutching his shoulders, bent back to the point where he was holding he upright.

It was not his first kiss.

But it was the best kiss.

And her absence left him reeling as they broke apart. Pluming the air with white as they gasped to catch their breath. Nalir had her slung across his lap. The flame in the bucket had roared up in response to his excitement. And he could finally see her face. Her green eyes were wide with amazement. The mirror of his own. And a shred of apprehension must have betrayed him. Because they turned resolute, her hands lifted to his face, smoothing away the lines in his brow, running through his hair.

"Mmmm…"

He hummed as she continued, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder. Turning his face to run his lips across the soft skin of her neck at the collar of her jacket. Again she gasped, arching up into him as he held her fast, nipping her ear.

"Nalir!" She sang his name smolderingly.

And he loved the sound of it on her lips.

"Theresa…" He murmured back.

Pressing tiny kisses across her forehead. Her closed eyes. Her nose. Making his way back home. She moaned; pulling him down beside her as their lips met up again, no longer strangers. Theresa yanked at the brass buttons on her jacket, struggling to shrug out of the stiff military coat. They popped free under his encouragement, giving way to soft white silk bloused tucked into her voluminous trousers. Trembling, his hands hovered just above what his cheek had already been acquainted with. Small. High. They would fit perfectly in his hands. And he hesitated, battling with propriety. Until Theresa took charge, putting the where they longed to be. Proving him right.

But her hands were not idle either.

They found the hook and eyes at the front of his tunic, then the ties of his black sill undershirt. Nalir sucked in a breath as frosty air stole over his bare skin, only to go rigid with pleasure as the fabric parted. His was forced to free a hand to keep upright as his eyes clenched shut; teeth gritted against a moan as her hands stole beneath, spreading across his smooth chest, down his solar plexus to the hard hollow of his stomach. Her hands stopped at the clap to his waist band. And his opened his eyes to find her looking up at him, flushed with wanting, lips red and full from kissing. And her green eyes burned for him, but not without a shred of fear.

"I've… I've never done this before…"

A shock of lust went straight through him at just the prospect of _this_.

Nalir was no virgin.

He'd shed that last shred of childhood in a broom closet with a maid named Elise. She was blonde, Tyrnian, and older than him by three years. She liked to sneak him beer and stay up all night playing chess. He called her Ely. He charmed her a starling that could speak Tyrinese. And she'd taught him more than any _questionable_ book could ever describe.

But this was different.

This was no fumble in the broom closet.

Although, this was indeed a broom closet.

"Theresa," He sat back on his heels, taking her hands to kiss them both, "You don't have to do this now."

And that stubborn light went on in her eyes as her jaw hardened. Gods, she was beautiful when she was pissed.

"What if all we have is now?"

Anger bloomed in his gut. He used it to smother the fear that she might be right. Kissing her hands again, speaking with quiet passion, making his words a promise, "There will be plenty of time."

But her hands tightened on his as she sat up, nose inches from his with her head tilted back. Challenge flickered in her emerald eyes. The silk of her shirt brushed against his naked stomach. Instantly his legs went weak.

"I'm _sick_ of waiting, Nalir. I want you _now_."

He couldn't not kiss her after that, following her back onto the blankets, shrugging out of his long robes as she yanked on them.

Because she was right.

Given their current predicament.

All they had was now.

***

"Are you alright?" He murmured against the soft skin of her neck as Theresa stirred beside him. She was tucked into his arms, her back to his stomach, head pillowed in the curve of his bicep. Fitting perfectly.

"Goose… Stop asking that." She muttered, stretching like a cat that's gotten its cream, "A little sore, but I'm more than fine."

"Oh, really?" Nalir nuzzled her ear, rewarded as she leaned into the contact, humming happily.

"Well, I didn't expect _that_ the first time around."

His turn to grin, "You did look a little surprised."

She elbowed him playfully, "Pleased with ourselves, are we?"

"_Ouch!_ Careful! I'm delicate, remember? But I am pleased. I wanted your first time to be good…" He turned serious, "Was it?"

"Yes." His heart smoldered at her reply. And she flipped over, snuggling into him so that her words tickled against her chest, "Not many girls can say that." She paused for a long moment, playing with the fine red hairs that fuzzed his chest, "Have there been many?"

It took every inch of self control not to snort. Black bricks, what a thoroughly _female_ question to ask.

"No." He smoothed her hair, "Only one other."

"Really?" She actually seemed surprised.

"I'm a bit of an ass, remember?" He grimaced sardonically, "I may be pretty but I'm not very popular."

Theresa was frowning, "What happened?"

Nalir blinked, at a loss, "I… I don't know. One day she was just gone."

"Why? She must have said something?"

"I said I don't know!" She went very still against him. Remorse shot through him like a bitter draught as he tightened his arms around her, resting his forehead on her shoulder with a weary sigh. "Sorry… I didn't mean to snap. Asshole, remember?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was being nosy." She relaxed against him, "And you're not an asshole."

"So you say…" Nalir was quiet for a long moment, because this was a different kind of intimacy. Intimacy of the mind was far more terrifying than intimacy of the flesh. He never thought he'd want it so desperately. It was hard to admit he was lonely, to admit weakness. It was unseemly.

"My mother sent her away."

"What?"

He turned bitter, feeling the familiar anger gnawing at the back of his throat. "It's impossible to keep anything hidden from her. She found out and didn't approve. I'm almost positive that's what happened. It's easy to get a maid discharged from services. Especially if you a Magi from the Tri-Council. No one would dare question _her_ word."

"That's awful!" Theresa was stunned, "How could she?!"

"Have you met my _mother_?!" Again he spat the words like poison.

"Oh… Yeah." She replied uncomfortably, trying not to say anything that might offend him. Not that she could. He had more choice words to describe his mother than probably anyone she'd ever offended.

"Well then. There you have it."

"But… Why didn't you go after her? You know…"

She wiggled her fingers vaguely.

It was true. He's though about scrying her on more than one occasion. Maybe tried to find some way to send her some money. But he'd always balked. Afraid of what he'd find. Sometimes he worried about her. Reconstruction Ingary was relatively safe. But there were many places that were not. Like so many of them, she didn't have anything.

She'd come here for a chance to make something for herself.

She was a hard worker. Smart. Funny.

Where had that gotten her?

Nowhere.

And why?

Blind, stupid, prejudice.

He should have gone after her. But he didn't.

Something else to hate himself for.

"At first I was angry. Really angry. I didn't understand. I thought she'd left me… I was a royal pain for about six months after that. You probably remember. That's when Markl and I blew up one of the brand new practice rooms. I got mad at him about something. Can't even remember why. It was something stupid. And I destabilized the spell."

"Oh… I do remember that." Her eyes went far away with memory.

"I've never seen Master Barimus so angry, but Master Howl just laughed."

"Yeah… He does that."

"I didn't understand." But he wasn't talking about his Masters. It was hard to swallow the tightness in his throat. It was like that whenever he thought about Elly. "But then I figured it out. By then it was too late to do anything. And I couldn't look. Sometimes knowing was worse than not knowing."

She was still frowning, her eyes fixed on his chest. "I had no idea."

"And you never would." He looked past the top of her head, watching his breath curl up into the frosty half-dark.

She propped her head up, nose inches from his, staring at him intently, much like she had earlier in the garden. At least she didn't ask him to stick out his tongue.

"Why do you do that?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"You're hiding." And he blinked, shrinking from her scrutiny, looking away, because he felt completely exposed. It was terrifying and wonderful.

"What if I am?" Nalir replied carefully.

"Why?!" She seemed incredibly frustrated, like she wanted to shake him. And he let out a long ragged sigh.

"I burned a lot of bridges when I was younger, Theresa. I was a stupid little shit. And a lot of people still don't like me because of it: Royals, Magi, and Country folk alike. I hear them. Every day I hear exactly what they think of me." He tapped his head wearily, shifting to his back to look up at the smoky ceiling of the herb closet, "It's hard to change people's minds once they're made. At least then they leave me alone. I get more work done that way."

The hollowness was back inside him.

But it filled with warmth as Theresa settled back on to his arm, tucking the cloak and blankets over him, spreading her hand over his chest.

"You'd be surprised how easily you can change someone's mind."

Rubbing her chilly nose on his shoulder, she planted a kiss there. Stoking the helpless feelings inside him as her bare skin slid softly against his.

Then her stomach growled. Loudly.

Normally he would have laughed.

Instead his insides went cold. Brittle with fear.

"You should eat something." He whispered, thinking of how little there was left in the soup pot. Theresa had already been all through the close. Whatever she found has gone into the can, stretching it as far as it would go. What was left was either medicinally poisonous or truly inedible.

"I'm saving it for later." She replied efficiently.

But he heard the quaver in her voice and knew what it meant.

It had been three days. At least what he could count as days. It might have been longer. Still, nothing but red hot agony inside his skull. He'd tried. Tried so hard until blood poured from his nose and Theresa made him stop by threat of an even worse thrashing from her. He must have truly damaged something, which sent his insides colder still. Because that was all he had, his only real magic.

Useless. He was absolutely _useless!_

Adding insult to injury, his cough started up, forcing him to roll over onto his side, hacking and gasping around what felt a lungful of flaming dust. And Theresa held him from behind. The cloud of her hair tickled his bare shoulders.

"It's okay…" She whispered, smoothing his hair as he retched and sobbed, "It's okay."

But it wasn't.

He had to get her out of here.

And his mind raced as she quieted, falling asleep beside him.

Not long after he could feel the gentle warmth of her even breath on his back. Carefully so as not to wake her, Nalir got up and got dressed. Leaving his cloak with her and feeding the tiny fire before slipping through the crack in the closet door. The pitched black beyond was a bit unnerving, like being trussed up in a laundry bag. But he found the mouth of the pocket by following the cold. It breathed at him like a northern gale, surging through a tiny hole. This he pulled at, stretching it larger and larger until he could pop through out into the ice dome.

Nalir called up the barest mage light, watching as the pocket snapped back behind him, reverting to its original size. And he stared at the tiny pouch, watching as a thin stream of smoke filtered from it mouth, making it look like a tiny monster. He followed the curling tongues as they drifted up to the air hole above. Listening to the distant whistling of the wind far, far above. Already his teeth were chattering, but he ignored the cold, ignored the pain in his head and the nagging cough that seemed to sap away all his strength. Thinking so hard his skull felt about ready to burst, he stared between the pouch and the air hole.

The pouch was small enough. Light enough.

If he could move a pebble he could move a pouch.

He'd only have to make the hole a little bit larger. Fist sized.

At least he could get her out.

Then what, you idiot!? He seethed, pacing to keep warm. Send her out she could freeze to death in a snow storm?!

No. She was more resourceful then that. She had the herb closet to keep warm. He could magic the bucket with an ignition charm so that anything she put in would burn. It would wear off eventually. But they'd find her by then. They had to be looking. Markl had to be tearing apart the whole of the Wastes by now. Besides, it was the only chance she had.

Back into the pouch, he stoked the fire, kneeling beside Theresa to gently shake her awake. She groaned and rolled over, burrowing like a little red squirrel beneath his cloak. His heart swelled as she tucked up beneath his hands. So small. So very precious.

"Wake up, Theresa." He urged.

"Wha'-huh?" She mumbled sleepily. And her head popped out, bleary eyes and pinked from sleep, her hair a glorious mess. But her face grew troubled as she took in his determined expression. "What's wrong?"

"Get dressed." He commanded

"What!?" She sat up, holding his cloak to her bare chest.

"Get dressed," Nalir repeated briskly, stepping over her to test the shelves, turning to circle his hands over the ashy muck bucket, setting lines of magic all around the brim.

"Don't worry about running out of matches. I just put a fire charm on the bucket so whatever you put into it will burn. And I'll fix the shelves with rigidity charms so nothing comes crashing down."

She was on her feet now, naked beneath his cloak, grabbing him, spinning him around so she could look him straight in the eyes, "What are you on about you silly wizard!?"

He took a deep breath, looking back, knowing she would argue.

"I'm getting you out of here."

Her face pinched with fear, "What do you mean we're getting out!?"

"Not we." He corrected calmly, "You."

And before she closed off entirely he launched into a description of how.

"I'm going to widen the breathing hole to about the size of my hand," He held up a clenched fist, "It should be just big enough for me to get the herb closet through. With you inside of course."

She jolted, shock wiping her face absolutely blank. And like clockwork her jaw hardened, stubborn popping on in her eyes like one of the electric light bulbs in the spire room.

"No." She pronounced, hands going to her hips.

"Yes." He countered, crossing his arms and drawing himself up.

And she crumbled, just a fraction, just enough to let him know she was listening. "Why can't we go together!?"

"Because I can't get the closet to move from inside." He stabbed his finger at the floor, explaining slowly, as clearly as he could, "There's interference in here, Theresa, from the shaping spells that keep this thing intact. I can feel them all around me, like bits of string and twine tied to every surface. If I try to cast on this place from the inside I'll damage those strings. And the closet could collapse. It's shielded from the outside. I checked. You'll be perfectly safe."

"B-but… But the ice could collapse too! You'll be crushed! And you'll freeze to death if I take the closet! It's bloody _artic_ out there!"

She had a point.

But he wasn't about to let her know that.

Better than letting her stay and starve to death.

"You know I'm right." He just looked at her, trying to be cold and calm. But that was becoming increasingly difficult when he was near her.

_"I won't leave you!"_ She choked, grabbing a hold of the front of his robes, shaking him. She was crying. Her shoulders shaking as bits of hot wet soaked through the front of his shirt, _"I won't!"_

It was his turn to crack. To give in. And he pulled her against him, breathing in the smell of her hair. Because she was hugging him fiercely as if afraid she'd be torn away.

"You're not leaving me." He shook her gently and she went still, "You're going to save me, Theresa. No one else can."

She looked up at him. Face red and puffy with tears, twice as stubborn.

It only served to temper his resolve.

She'd forgive him some day. Hopefully they all would.

Leaning in so quickly she couldn't protest Nalir kissed her; passionately, desperately. Trying to make it tell all the things churning through his insides. Things he'd never be able to put into words. Then he pushed her away, out the door and slamming it behind him. Planting a kernel of magic in the latch. Temporary locking it solid. It would wear off in less than five minutes. Just enough time. It rattled under his hand but stayed fast as Theresa screamed from the inside, pounding on the wooden planks.

"_Nalir, you bastard! Open this door! OPEN THIS DOOR!"_

"Put out the fire." He instructed, "And hold on. This will be bumpy."

Her voice cut off as he was out of the pocket, standing in the ice cave. Calling up a mage light, turning to business as he stared at the air hole. Picking up a nearby rock he rubbed it in his hands, permeating it with what little magic he had conserved over the days. Massaging and shaping it out into a pendulum, dismayed by how simple an act could exhaust him. And he worked out the physics in his head as best be could as doubt came creeping into his heart.

Would the shielding on the pocket be enough? He hoped so.

Turning back to the stone dart in his hands, Nalir fed it with the fire in his heart, stoked it with all the will he could summon, turning it red hot with his need to succeed. Sweat poured from his brow and his hands were blistered by the time the stone was glowing white hot. It hissed as he set it on the floor, melting the pile of snow directly below the air hole.

_"GO!" _He thundered at the thing, slamming his hands onto the ground.

His head swam as it exploded through the ceiling, spraying him with steam and water, leaving him coughing and sputtering. But light poured down from above.

Clear cold light followed by a blast of fresh air.

But his exultant cry died on his lips as a crack splintered its way off the rim of the oculus. Snatching up the pouch, he marveled at how light it was. Almost weightless. And Nalir blanched. This was a problem. One he hadn't considered. It might not be able to generate enough momentum to clear the hole. He fell to his knees as his legs dissolved.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _

Nalir jerked himself free of his self-castigation as the crack snapped audibly, fracturing into twins. Hastily positioning himself beneath the hole, Nalir hurled the pouch upwards with all the strength of magic he could summon. Up it went. Going. Going!

And then light overhead blotted out.

"_NO!"_ He howled in dismay as the cave plunged into darkness.

Sure enough it had gotten caught. And he couldn't just send another rock up jetting up the pipe. The impact could kill her, if not tear the pouch to shreds. And the dome was cracking more and more with every passing second. The passage would collapse with the walls, trapping her in ice.

_Think, damn you, THINK!_

Steam!

The epiphany hit him like a shot to the back of the head. Like a cork bursting out of a bottle, ejected by the pressure beneath.

Slamming his hands down onto the bare stone floor, Nalir pumped whatever was left in him into the floor beneath him. Willing it hotter than hot. And it worked. The room flushed with steam as the walls began to drip, water evaporating the moment it touched the ground. And he could barely breathe in the sweltering clouds, coming closer and closer to a swoon.

Then his ears popped.

The steam sucked up out the hole.

And light poured through the oculus.

Just as the cave collapsed.


	3. Chapter 3

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Aoi-chan for her kind words. Thank you for reading! ^.^

* * *

Ryden banked hard, struggling to keep his equilibrium.

A wall of frigid air hit him from below, surging up off the Teeth of the Wastes. His eyes watered behind his aviation goggles, teeth chattering even through his wore layers and layers of chill proof gear. But the sky was blisteringly cold, naked and ferocious with wind as he soared high over the endless planes, canyons and peaks covered in nothing but white, white, white.

He was a fast flyer.

The fastest the Guard had to offer save one.

Ryden struggled to keep up with the Captain of the Wizard Guard.

Peoter rocketed ahead of him.

A streak of blue and red against the monotony of white.

By the Wall that man could fly!

But flying brought neither of them any comfort today.

Three days since the crash.

The explosion left a crater on the side of Chimney Mountain the size of the Ingarian Palace. The crew had been lost. A couple of the guard too. He hadn't known them well, but it didn't matter. Loosing any one of the Reds was like loosing a brother. Only one had survived. Just barely. Poor guy was burned beyond recognition, tucked away in the safest corner of the Healer's Wing. The only reason he was still alive was because he was a flyer.

Which Nalir was not.

But he was with Theresa and she could fly like a daemon.

Then two days ago a snow daemon followed the stink of magic to the shattered remains of a garden hoe in the burrow of a rock sprite. The little creature said he'd found it buried in the snow and couldn't say where.

Still, they weren't about to give up.

Especially not Markl.

The Wallmaker's son begged Nox out of the Otherworld when efforts to contact Nalir via mind speech failed again and again. Between Calcifer and the Prince of Stars they managed to call up every amicable Daemon on the face of the Wastes to help with the search. The Wallmakers were most familiar with the Eastern steppes. Lord Howl, Lady Sophie, and even Akarshan were both combing over every nook and cranny from the Chipping Hills to Star Lake.

All eyes that could be spared were turned to the Wastes.

The shards of Suliman's orb were found in the crash. And the next best scry-tool in the Tri-Countries was the Amethyst Bowl of the Mardan Water Witch.

But Merra had couldn't find him.

Three days she'd remained awake, searching, scanning. Looking for any sign of her son or the Herbalist's apprentice. But time and time again the only thing that showed in her scrylass was darkness. And snow. No one wanted to admit what that might mean. He'd been in the room when the Water Witch finally gave up. The memory still burned his insides with anger. He'd always known Merra was an ice queen. The marks of that legacy could be seen in Nalir. But she hadn't shed a tear! Hadn't uttered a single word of consolation to any of them! She just let the scrylass go dark, stood up, and left the room.

That was when Lady Martha broke down.

In spite of her enormous presence, the Herbalist was such a quiet woman. He'd barely heard her speak more than a handful of words in the six years he'd served with Captain Peoter. And he'd never heard someone scream so loudly. Her unearthly keening had rattled him clear to the core of his bones. Barimus had to carry her out of the room. But he could still hear her even after she was gone.

He'd never forget that sound.

They were circling back now, passing by the ruined crumbled mass of the mountain peak where the airship had gone down. Hundreds of tiny red points milled over the burned out hull. It looked like a scorched bird carcass from high above. Lord Barimus was with them. Trying to piece together what happened. Ryden had been privy to a short report between the Royal Sorcerer and his Captain. And what he overheard chilled his heart to stone.

Sabotage.

The word still burned a hole in his chest.

Sabotage!

Who could do such a thing!?

Ryden came up into a hover, watching Peoter circle the crash sight, flashing a mirror pinned to his breast at the crowds below. One in the masses stopped, flashing back. Seran. Not a mind speaker in the slightest. But he and the Captain had worked that out. Apparently there was nothing new to report, because Peoter arced away from the site, heading back out over the open Wastes. Without hesitation he followed.

And Ryden's heart sank, turning so heavy he nearly fell from the sky.

Nalir was an insufferable, over-stuffed, sharp-tongued, ass of a Magi.

But still…

He was Ryden's friend.

They'd been through more together than anyone could imagine. True, they'd drifted apart after the end of the Daemon War. Ryden joined the Guard and Nalir'd taken an apprenticeship with the Royal Sorcerer. But they still saw each other from time to time at Royal functions. And over the years Ryden watched the changes in Nalir. If ever a problem occurred, he was one of the first to come up with a plan to fix it. Not some half cobbled plan either. Things he fixed stayed fixed. He knew exactly who to talk to. Who to bring in. Who to laud. Who to reprimand. But he wasn't very good at compromise. Nalir was right, even when you were so very sure he was wrong. And a lot of people hated him for being right all the time. To say it gave him a bit of an ego was an understatement. Something else people could hate him for.

But it went deeper than that.

Besides knowing about everyone and anything going on in the Palace, somehow Nalir'd learned to listen. Really listen. And if you came to him with a personal problem, you could bet your big gold Royal that his advice was worth taking. Unfortunately he was just too damned smart for his own good. And sometimes people didn't want to have the truth shoved in their faces.

Like right now.

And it was sad, but true. Magi, daemon, and country folk alike were really come out of the woodwork for Theresa. Not Nalir. The world would be cold quiet without her sunshine. Ryden was only just beginning to accept that admit the chances were slim. So they catapulted back out over the Wastes. And Ryden forced himself to fly faster, telling himself his eyes were watering because of the wind. He didn't want to think about it yet.

Because loosing her was close to killing Markl.

Although Ryden almost flew straight into Peoter as the Guard suddenly looped back, coming to a spinning, neck bending halt. Ryden caught a thermal beside him, trying to see what his teacher saw.

There is was.

A thin curl of black smoke winding its way out of a chasm below.

Peoter dropped like a stone.

Ryden followed, his heart thrilling up in his throat and not because of the fall. The sun winked out as they plunged by the lips of the narrow ravine. It was stuffed full of snow. Nearly brimming. Peoter crowed as Ryden's eyes picked out a speck of green.

_Theresa!_

She was covered in herbs, with all kinds of twigs and sprigs of sharp smelling medicinals tangled up in her hair. He could hear her screaming as they crashed to the ground, running at them waving her hands. And the former twin scooped her up, laughing and crying as he whirled her around like a rag doll. Ryden tackled them both, kissing her frozen red cheeks, only barely taking notice of the fact that the snow behind them was burning. Piled up in a metal bucket. Churning out a thick cloud of stinky magic saturated smoke.

But Theresa was anything but happy to see them.

She was franticly struggling, trying to break free of their hold.

"_Nalir!"_ She screamed, pointing at a shallow crater in the snow.

It looked like something below the surface had caved 's face went absolutely blank. Ryden caught up Theresa, wrapping her in his coat as his teacher's eyes went pale and far away. Within a heartbeat the air overhead shattered with something akin to a sonic boom.

A star fell from the bright blue sky

And they were knocked from their feet, thrown to the ground as it touched down in the snows banks not far away, setting off an explosion of magnesium sparklers, spraying them with ice and steam.

Nox stood up out of the icy basin, cloaked in indigo blue.

Shaking his starlight hair.

Blinking uncannily luminescent violet eyes.

Ryden bowed beside Peoter as the Prince of Stars stared at his hands in child-like awe, wiggling his fingers.

_"NOX!"_ Theresa threw herself at the star.

Lithely he bent from his supple height, catching her up in an embrace of liquid grace. Following after her with unhurried serenity as she broke free, grabbing his arm, pulling him after her, all the while pointing

"_He's still down there!" _She was hoarse from screaming.

Nox's calm broke as he looked past all of them at the shallow depression.

"Move." His voice sounded like the knell of a great golden bell.

And Ryden nearly jumped out of his skin as Peoter grabbed him, dragging him aside as the star put out a hand, making a scooping motion. The ground trembled as the snow heaved. Snarling and snapping angrily. As if loathe to give up its treasure. However begrudgingly, it belched up great mound of ice that lifted into the air, eroding in showers of fresh snow, uncovering at its heart a blot of black and red.

"_NALIR!?" _Theresa's wail touched something raw in Ryden.

It reminded him too much of Lady Martha. And he followed the Herbalist's apprentice as she tore past the star to catch the Mardan as he drifted down like a great black snowflake.

Ryden choked as he looked at his friend.

The thin man was pale and blue.

So very still.

Not breathing.

"We still have a chance." Bent over him, she went cold as the ice beneath her, professional as the greens she wore, "Hypothermia may save him. But we have to be his heart and lungs until he thaws. Palpitate while I breathe!"

"W-what!?"

"_Bloody black bricks, don't they teach you wizards anything!?" _She snarled so furiously he lept back, _"Peoter!?"_

His teacher was opposite her in an instant, folding his hands into one fist, fitting these over the frozen man's chest. Waiting as Theresa turned back Nalir's head, fitting her mouth to his, forcing air into his lungs. Ryden marveled as his chest rose and fell like magic, but obviously not.

"Now!" She cued Peoter, who pushed down on Nalir's chest three times, hard enough to make Ryden flinch.

"What must be done?"

The lanky guard nearly jumped out of his skin as Nox touched his shoulder, appearing at his side like a dream in indigo velvet. The contact was an electric shock. Instantly he bowed, and in doing so saw that the inside of the Prince's cloak was filled with stars.

"We need get him back to the healer's wing. _Now!_" Theresa snapped.

Nox turned, looking at nothing as he sang out sonorously, **"Deirdre!"**

Magic surged from him, and Ryden yelped as a doorway lifted out of the snow, built from the ice itself, complete with a door and latch. The frozen bolt turned, opening out as the eerie breath of the Otherworld came creeping across the snow. On the threshold, two women stood linked arm and arm. Perfect copies save one had eyes of black and the other eyes of white.

They split apart, pulling a hole between them.

It snapped into place, filling the doorway.

Beyond was the view from the main entrance to the Healer's wing, and the cries of the startled Greenie filter out into the canyon.

"_I need a stretcher!"_ Theresa shouted as she came up from breathing.

But her apprentice sisters ran screaming as Nox bent to peer through at them curiously. Ryden darted past the star, rattled by the surge of magic and the wall of warmth as he crashed into the waiting room. Pushing through the doors he ran right into a Green who looked capable. She had that look, a set to her chin that said she could do anything.

"By the Wall itself, what the blazes are _you_ doing in here!?" She craned her neck and shouted into the distance, "Who left the windows open!? It's absolutely freezing!"

Ryden seized her arm, "I need a stretcher!"

Taking in his uniform and state she wordlessly hauled open a supply cabinet handing him a long canvas covered roll complete with poles. He was back through the double doors and out into the snow, vaguely aware of a scream behind him. Probably the Greenie discovering the Wastes outside her front door.

"Got it!" Ryden called as he came back to Theresa's side.

Only to feel the bottom drop out his chest.

Nalir was still blue and unmoving in spite of all the work they were doing.

"Lay it out next to him!" Theresa ordered as she surfaced.

"H-how?" Ryden stammered, uselessly shaking the device to no avail.

With a furious snarl Theresa jumped to her feet, seizing the poles. The fabric snapped open under her hand, unrolling with a drum-like thump as she shook it.

"Get his shoulders, Peoter!" She pointed up at Ryden, "You get his feet!"

Theresa positioned herself to continue breathing even as they moved Nalir, lifting him, carrying him through the doorway into the Healers Wing. A crackling pop behind Ryden announced the closing of the portal. And they barreled through the double doors, joined by the same Greenie from earlier. She was pale as her apron, but unlike her students, had recovered from her look into the north.

"Medics!" She shouted, waiting for Theresa to surface, "What's his condition!?"

"Buried in snow for about a half hour maybe more." The red-head gasped for air, "Not breathing. No pulse."

"Right. We'll take him from here."

All at once the hallway opened up into a room full green uniformed country men and women. Ryden balked as they swarmed around him, taking the stretcher from his hands, yelling orders and moving with such ordered chaos he was utterly lost. And he thought Guard drills were difficult! Theresa and Peoter fell back as others took their places. And Ryden watched as Nalir was carried away by a green sea of capable hands.

"A-are you okay?" Winded, he bent to put his hands on his knees.

"I'm fine." She whispered thoroughly unconvincingly.

Peoter caught her as her knees buckled, lifting her back to her feet.

Just as the double doors behind them burst open.

Ryden watched as Markl strode through riding a gale that gusted down the corridor. But the Wallmaker's son never lost momentum. His eyes were fixed on one thing. And one thing only. On his face was the look of a man who had crossed a dessert only to see water; nearly drowned in the ocean only to feel land beneath his feet. A man who'd lost everything only to gain it all back.

Theresa turned, looking over Peoter's arm just as he caught her.

Lifting her high into a hug so tight she actually squeaked.

Ryden went hot in the cheeks as Markl sat her down.

And kissed her full on the lips.

***

She could see the gardens from her chair.

But she wasn't looking.

Instead she was staring at the grain of the wood beneath her feet.

Markl was with her.

So were Peoter and Ryden.

But she didn't see them.

Didn't feel his arm around her shoulders. Holding her close in an awkward sideways kind of bear hug, making her back hurt. And it didn't feel good around her shoulders. It made her insides itch with all kinds of uncomfortable feelings. It got worse as she remember his kiss. Sloppy and rough. She's cut her lip on one of her teeth. But she could hear Markl's heart thumping away in his chest. Fast and strong. Making her remember what it was like to feel its absence.

No heartbeat.

No pulse.

Cold and still.

Lips blue.

Dried blood all over his face.

Dead for all intensive purposes.

But no one had come to make the announcement.

So there was still a chance the cold had saved him.

A door opened and Theresa was on her feet.

But it wasn't a solemn faced Greenie.

It was Martha.

The Herbalist looked like she'd come right from bed. She was wearing only a nightdress, so maybe she had. Long black hair half braided, pulling free in tangled loops. Sallow face raw and red with the tears bright in her darkly circled eyes. She choked on her name as her voice failed. Holding her arms open wide. And she was there, in her mother's arms. Martha held her, rocking her back and forth, smoothing her hair,

But she couldn't cry yet.

Her insides were too full of waiting.

There wasn't enough room for tears.

"Barimus is on his way." Her mother whispered as if the act of speaking might somehow make her disappear, "So are Sophie and Howl."

Still smoothing her hair, Martha steered her back to a seat, sitting beside her, becoming at once a solid wall of strength. Theresa leaned on her heavily as slowly but surely her insides tore apart.

Theresa didn't even notice Barimus until he was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees. His brown eyes became her whole world. All kinds of things were going on inside them.

"Daddy…" She whispered, not knowing what else to say.

His hands tightened on hers, brittle smile thinning to the point that it became a grimace. He yanked her against him. His beard rubbing roughly against her cheek. She didn't care. She loved it when Barimus hugged her.

And then she saw it at the threshold. Howl held the door open. She recognized the pink and grey triangles of his coat. But it was there, beyond the blue of Sophie's skirts, past the reds of Peoter and Ryden.

A flash of green.

Waiting patiently.

Theresa didn't know how she got there. She could have picked up and thrown Barimus for all she knew. All that mattered was she was next to the uniform of the right color, bent and gasping for air. No longer waiting. But she couldn't look up. Couldn't look at the Healer's face as the woman took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"They revived him." Theresa heard someone say.

"He's alive."

That was all she needed.

All her body had been holding on to hear.

And her legs gave out: knees, ankles, thighs.

All of them failed as relief turned her to rubber.

She remembered swatting at someone's hands.

She was tired of being picked up and tossed about.

But they picked her up anyway.

And carried her out of the room.

***

It was warm.

_Really_ warm.

Nalir twitched as he seemed to float above everything. Flying in the brightness that wrapped around him. Like the clean white sheets the servants used to hang in the fields behind his father's house. Billowing linen veils that smelled like sunlight. When he was little he used to run between them pretending they were clouds. Pretending he could fly.

Maybe he'd made up for something then?

Because this obviously wasn't hell.

Hell didn't smell like clean linen.

Although he certainly felt like hell.

Ever fiber of his body ached, felt twenty times heavier than it should. Nalir could barely open his eyes. And he moaned as some of the light slipped between his eye lids, piercing his head like sharp shards of glass.

"He's waking up, Lord Councilor."

A woman's voice sounded somewhere above him.

Brisk and satisfied.

But not the one he wanted.

Was she alright!?

Where was she?

"Theresa? _Theresa!?_" Nalir's voice rasped between his lips that felt dry as sand shingles. And he flinched as someone took his hand and squeezed.

"It's alright, Nalir."

At least he knew _that_ voice.

"Master Barimus?" He croaked toadishly.

It didn't matter how many times Barimus asked him not too. Nalir insisted on calling him Master, as was befitting his status. To do otherwise was inexcusably disrespectful. But for once the Royal Wizard didn't scold him.

"Shhh… She's safe. Theresa's just fine."

Nalir nearly dissolved with relief.

Red swam before his eyes and Barimus resolved out of the swallowing bright. And he looked anything but fine. His normally well cropped beard was getting shaggy, making the lines around his eyes seem deeper, more pronounced. His brown eyes suddenly soaked through with worry as they looked at him. And a thread of cold uncurled in the leaden weight that was his body. If Theresa was fine why did Barimus look so upset?

The Royal Sorcerer turned to the Greenie who hovered in his shadow.

"Are you sure he's alright?"

"Of course," the young woman frowned, pushing past to replace Barimus at his beside, busying herself with peering into his eyes and prodding at his wrists. "Healer Yewin saw to that."

Nalir's insides turned to ice, and with a great degree effort the young sorcerer pulled back his hands. "Yewin?" Nalir almost choked on the name.

"You owe him your life." She gushed in the way women often fawned.

The Greenie didn't seem to notice his hands close into fists atop the sheets. It would be very poor form to verbally abuse a complete stranger in front of his master, but Nalir was sorely tempted as she smoothed the blankets over him, fussing over him until the very sound of her breathing made him ill.

"Clara, could I trouble you to leave us a while?"

Barimus had come around the other side of Nalir's bed, putting distance between them. The blond man was smiling at the healer, oozing charm. And the greenie paused, distracted from strangling Nalir's feet with a throw blanket.

"B-but he's only just woken up…" Already she was swaying, caught in his master's net, "Lady Martha wants him under strict observation."

"Then I shall tell you the moment I notice something amiss." Barimus replied with velvet cheerfulness.

"Oh… Well… I'll just be outside then." Somewhat forlornly she wandered to the door, slipping out only to poke her head back in, "Call if you need anything?"

"Thank you, Clara." He beamed.

Although the warmth never reached his eyes.

Finally the door clicked shut. Leaving them in tense silence. And Nalir finally took notice of the room. Light was streaming in the windows, permeating the gauzy beige drapes, making the bare white walls fluoresce with light. There was a ferny-looking plant on the table beside the bed. Potted in the same glazed earth ware as the sturdy mug in which Theresa'd brewed his tea.

Nalir flinched as a chair scraped the wooden floor.

Barimus sat beside his bed.

They both stared somewhere else.

Anywhere but at each other.

Nalir finally gathered courage to speak, struggling with great difficulty to sit up against the pillows. The very act left his heart racing.

"H-how long have I been here?"

"Three days. You've been in and out all today. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised you're awake."

All the polite words Nalir could normally summon suddenly dried up. That shouldn't have surprised him all that much. Because when he locked Theresa into the herb closed he never really expected to open his eyes on this world ever again. As if sensing his thoughts, the false smile disappeared from his teacher's face, leaving him grim.

"You _died_, Nalir." Barimus choked on the word, "Your heart was stopped for almost a full hour."

That was difficult to wrap his head around.

Being dead.

Because he didn't remember anything after the dome smashed above him. Smothering him in icy teeth of frozen oblivion. Unconsciously he shivered. As if he was still buried in snow. And he felt jarringly empty. Devoid of any joy to find himself still alive. Because so many others weren't nearly so lucky.

"I wasn't about to let her starve to death." He whispered distantly, "I promised Markl I would take care of her."

Barimus' chair toppled over.

The Red wizard was on his feet.

Yanking him into a fierce hug.

Shocked. Nalir was utterly shocked.

His teacher often had words of praise. But never for him had he the pats on the back or the playful cuffs Barimus often gave the Wallmaker's son. Nalir'd seen Howl hug Markl and Barimus on many occasions. The raven haired man even hugged Lady Martha! But they were family. Such affection was common if not expected among family. Nalir was not part of the Wallmaker's family.

He should have been mortified.

But he wasn't.

If only for a moment.

He could imagine what it must be like to be wanted.

And if only for a moment.

He could imagine what it was like to have a father again.

All the joy that he'd been denied earlier suddenly came welling up as his teacher crushed the air out of him.

"You stupid little _fool_!" Barimus whispered hoarsely, still hugging him. "You stupid, _stupid_, little idiot! _I thought I'd lost you!"_

"_Master Barimus!"_ Nalir squeaked, _"I can't breathe!"_

The red wizard drew back, still holding him by the shoulders, looking at him with a mixture of fury and helpless amusement, "_Black, bloody bricks!_ Stop calling me that!"

"I c-c-can't help it, sir!" Nalir stammered, "Protocol demands it!"

"Protocol be _damned_! When we are alone you _will_ call me Barimus." He shook him for good measure, "That's an order!"

"Yes, Master Barimus…"

"_Nalir!" _His teacher thundered.

Oh, bloody hell, why couldn't he do anything right!?

"Sorry! Sorry!"

In a huff of green, Healer Clara burst in from the hallway, "What in the name of the Wall is going on in _here_!?"

"_Out!"_

Done with being urbane, Barimus stabbed an angry finger at the door. But Clara planted her hands on her hips. And a stab of weakness went through Nalir's chest. It conjured a memory of Theresa's angry face looking up at his.

"Royal Wizard, or not!" The little woman answered back, "I will not stand for you upsetting _my_ patient!"

"The Lord Councilor upsets no one, dear lady." Nalir cut in frostily, "Do leave us. We have important business."

Clara stared, flabbergasted before puffing up like a little green bird. _"Well!" _She slammed the door.

"Are _all_ the Greens this insufferable!?" Nalir muttered under his breath.

"I am fond of my wife and daughter." Barimus was smirking, "But I'm quite sure they have similar things to say about the Magi."

Finally Nalir couldn't stand decorum any longer.

He drew back the blankets, throwing his legs over the side of the opposite side of the bed before Barimus caught his arm. Anger brewing in his brown eyes like a storm cloud.

"And _what_ do you think you're doing?!"

Nalir curbed his tongue, stowing the hot reply he held waiting. Wordlessly, and not without a hint of heat creeping into his cheeks, the young wizard pointed at the door to the adjoining bathroom.

"Oh…" Barimus flushed, coming around the bed. "Let me help you."

"T-thank you, sir, but I'm q-quite sure I can manage," Nalir stammered in embarrassment as he slid out of bed onto his feet. And then down to the floor. Like a closing book his knees buckled, leaving himself in a pile of exasperation for his teacher to gather back up.

"Being stubborn is only good for so much, Nalir."

The Red Wizard gently hoisted him upright. With his teacher's help he managed not to fall again on the way to or back from the privy. But by the time he did make it back to bed he was utterly exhausted. Too exhausted to protest as Barimus covered him up as if he were a child.

"I'm so useless…" Nalir muttered despondently.

"Quite the contrary," Barimus he picked up his chair, settling beside the bed. "The Guard depends on you. _I_ depend on you."

Nalir shied from the open praise, not sure what to think of it, "All I do is relay orders, sir… I mean… er… Barimus."

It was incredibly awkward to _not_ call his teacher by his proper title.

"Will you please be quiet so I can thank you properly?!" The blond man leaned back with a gusty sigh, scrubbing at his face.

Still he managed to somehow exasperate his teacher.

And Nalir's cheeks burned with shame until he was trembling with it.

"Thank me? _Thank me for what!?_ Nothing! _Nothing!_" He hid his face in his hands as his sight blurred, "I couldn't do a thing as I watched that _ship_ come crashing down!? I could hear _them_… I could hear them _all_ in my head as it came down… And there was _nothing_ I could do to save them! All my magic was useless! _Useless!_"

Barimus was quiet so long Nalir's insides began to crack.

Then he put his teacher put his hand on Nalir's shoulder.

The contact was as overwhelming as it was comforting.

"You did save one life. For that I cannot begin to thank you."

True. He had saved one life.

And to save that life he would gladly die again.

"Well…" Nalir muttered between his fingers, "She saved me first."

Barimus squeezed his shoulder, and Nalir dared not look up. Because his master was smiling at him. The warmth finally reached his eyes.

"For six years you've been my student. Only now am I really beginning to see you. For that I am sorry." He cleared his throat as his voice thickened, "I… I am very proud to have you as my apprentice."

It was as if a hole had been pricked in his side.

All the despair came flooding out.

Slowly trickling away.

Leaving him tired.

But no longer sad or angry.

And he wilted against the pillows as an unfamiliar peace touched him.

"Thank you… Master Barimus..."

Before the Royal sorcerer could scold him for his momentary lapse, the door to the hall jerked open without so much as a knock. Lady Martha loomed in the threshold: pale, grim, and twice as terrifying. She wore green the way the Guard wore red, like a uniform. And her tight black braid wound in a silver streaked crown around her head. She carried a covered tray of what might as well be torture implements judging from the look on her face, which she directed entirely at her husband. Looking more than guilty Barimus was on his feet as she hooked the door closed with her foot, shrinking from the displeasure in her dark eyes as she replaced him at the chair.

But she gentled as her attention moved to him.

It was an emotion Nalir'd rarely seen in the Herbalist.

Placing the tray on his lap she uncovered it, revealing a steaming bowl of rich brown broth, buttered boiled rice, and stoutly brewed tea that instantly set his mouth watering. Nalir's stomach growled ferociously, nearly kicking its way free of his gut.

"Eat." She commanded softly.

No need to tell him twice. Bending over the platter, Nalir abandoned all decorum and drank directly from the bowl.

"Now the rice." Martha practically put the spoon in his mouth.

"Don't forget your tea." She murmured encouragingly after he decimated the rice, smoothing back his hair as it strayed into the cup.

"Thank you." He mumbled, pausing for a gulp of the hot beverage. It melted its way through his insides like quicksilver fire, making his aching body go absolutely weightless as he sank into the pillows, "Oh… Thank you…"

Nalir wasn't sure why he was thanking her for drugged him.

But whatever it was made him feel all fuzzy and relaxed.

"You're welcome." Martha answered. And then smiled.

Nalir couldn't recall if he'd ever seen her smile before.

"You're _so_ beau'iful when you smile, Lady Martha…" Nalir mumbled as the left half of his brain checked out, giving his mouth leave to run. "You shoul' smile more…"

Barimus choked on a laugh as she went flame red. And she took the cup from his hand, before turning a disapproving frown at her husband.

"He's far too skinny. They both are."

"'M no' skinny…" Nalir objected drunkenly.

Barimus snorted, "What did you give him?"

"Rest." She answered faultlessly. "Now leave him be so he can take it."

The clouds were back before he could protest.

Wrapping around his head.

Until it was too bright to stay awake.

***

Someone was singing. Singing for him.

Cold hands brushed his forehead.

Far to cold to be Theresa's.

Nalir jolted awake only to find it dark save for a single candle across the room. Merra yanked back her hands, sitting bolt upright in the chair beside his bed. He had a feeling no one knew his mother was with him. Why else would she be skulking in the dark? This was the first time in six years that _she'd_ come to see _him_.

And Nalir stared for a long moment.

Trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

But the rage boiling in his stomach was too strong for this to be a dream.

"Tell me you had nothing to do with _this_."

"I… I did not." His mother's agonized whispered slipped out so quietly he could barely hear her. "I swear it on your father's name!"

She was trembling, outlined from behind by the tiny flame. But something in her voice betrayed her. He heard it because he was used to listening for it. Something withheld. Something hidden. And his insides cracked apart as hate filled him.

"I don't believe you."

"Nalir…" Merra reached for him.

"No." He shrank from her cold hands.

"Nalir!" She hovered pleadingly, reaching still.

And he almost relented.

Almost reached back.

But then again Merra never begged for anything.

She could be manipulating him as she had so many times before.

"Little bird… Can you forgive your mother?" He could hear the tears in her voice even if he couldn't see them. They tore him to shreds, destroying his resistance. "I couldn't find you. I couldn't see you. These past days all could think ever thought of was you!"

But then her words rekindled the fury inside.

Igniting him like a brand held to dry tinder.

And all the bitterness he'd withheld for so long came pouring out.

"Me? _Me!?_ You've never once thought of anything but yourself! Coming to Ingary! Enrolling me in the Academy! Taking me from Elder Tirut's! You've _always_ used _me_ to better your standing. Used me to create more lucrative opportunities. But _this_… No ambition is worth such a price!" He grew hushed, feeling sick with outrage and disgust, "I don't know you anymore… You are _not_ my mother."

She drew herself up as though he'd struck her.

He might as well have hit her.

The words seemed to do as much damage.

"How _dare_ you speak to me…" She choked on her own venom, casting about for words. "You have _no_ idea what you are saying."

"_I'll speak as I please!_" Nalir hissed back.

He turned his back to her. And he didn't recognize his voice. It was so distant and cold it almost sounded as though it hadn't come from him.

"Leave. I don't ever want to see you again."

It was cruel. Crueler than she deserved.

But he didn't care.

After what seemed like hours he heard the floor creak.

A door opened and shut.

And he was alone.

The hate holding him up thawed in a heartbeat, melting into utter despair as he bent his face in the pillows. Sorrow flooded out of him uncontrollably.

And Nalir cried.

Like a little boy.

Like he had on the night his father was killed.

And again when Tirut died.

She was his mother. She was all he had left in the world. He'd followed her halfway across the world. He believed in her. Trusted her. Only because of her had he come to live in the very kingdom responsible for his father's death. All for love of her. He loved her still. With all his heart. But even that love wasn't enough to stand for what she had done.

Because it changed nothing.

Hundreds were dead.

He could still feel the weight of their passing on the fabric of his soul.

It was monstrous!

It was unforgivable!

Never had he felt so completely lost.

And he stilled as his mind suddenly started up like a whirring top. It did not matter than he had been the one on the Airship. The attempt had been intended not only on the life Royal Sorcerer's daughter but also the Wallmaker's Son. High treason. Punishable by death. Nalir's insides chilled at the thought, emptying him of anything but terror. Because he could not utter a word of this to anyone. Not even his Master.

Then a knock sounded from the inside of the bathroom door.

Nalir froze further still as the knob turned.

Theresa slipped into the room. Wearing a nightdress and shawl, feet bare and her mass of red curls tucked up under a kerchief. The Herbalist's apprentice remained looking at the floor as he hastily turned away, wiping his nose and face on his sleeve.

"Hi… I, uh… I'm not supposed to be here…" She scratched the tip of her nose, folding her hands behind her back, "I snuck in… I didn't want you to be by yourself. But then Merra came in when I was getting a glass of water…"

It took Nalir a moment to find his voice. It sounded harsher than he intended. "How much did you hear?"

She started visibly, "N-nothing! I promise you I wasn't listening at all!"

"You swear it?!" He demanded tersely.

"On my life!" She colored in the dark, hands going to her hips as she scowled at him furiously. But her keen eyes went to his face, seeing what he so desperately tried to hide. And she paused. Softening.

"Are… Are you okay?"

"No…" He breathed, barely a whisper.

Her eyes flicked to the door, a worried crease forming on her brow.

"Is it your mom?"

"Yes."

Once again the truth went slipping between his teeth, but that much was alright to admit. Nalir stared at his clenched hands, realizing he was trembling violently. Duty and honor demanded he tell Master Barimus immediately. But the consequences! The fear was beyond him, all consuming, the weight of it growing too much to bare.

Because he held his mother's life in his hands.

"Nalir?" He started, looking up to find Theresa at his beside. Her green eyes were for him. Only for him. And he felt his insides crack apart as the sorrow seized him freshly.

"I said awful things to her… My mother…"

He crumbled.

And she was there, as if she had been waiting.

"It's okay…" Theresa murmured, smoothing his hair.

But it wasn't.

It never would be ever again.

After a moment she drew back, lifting up the covers so she could climb into bed beside him. He made room, collecting her onto his shoulder. Oh, but it was wonderful to have her there. His insides came alive with warmth and lightness, as if he'd had another swig of Martha's tainted tea. The emptiness dried up, taking with it the fear and the shame. As if a missing piece of himself had been returned. It was wrong. So very wrong. But if it was wrong then why did it feel so right? It was difficult to tell who was holding who they were so tangled in one another. So he could feel her shoulders knotting

"You were dead…" She whispered.

"So Master Barimus tells me."

"You're not allowed to die." Her hands tightened on his shirt.

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked, although only half in jest. She let out a ragged sigh, burying her face in his chest as he turned his face into her kerchief.

"I can't stay long."

"Just a moment longer." He pleaded, "I've been dreaming of this."

He shouldn't have said that.

Because she stiffened. And he could almost hear the thoughts racing through her head. Judging from her tense shoulders, it was related to the question weighing heavily on his conscience.

"Did you tell him?"

"No." It was barely a whisper. But he heard her all the same.

"Don't. It will destroy him."

Already he could feel the secret smoldering in the back of his head. One more for his pyre. But he was currently keeping far worse things. Theresa let out another gusty sigh, at once sad and frustrated. Probably because she knew he was right. All the same, there was more to it.

"What?"

Theresa fidgeted, growing more and more exasperated.

"Out with it, woman!"

"It's Markl…"

"And what of him?"

"He's an awful kisser!"

Nalir stifled a surge of jealous, redirecting it through a brittle laugh, "Really… Surely it can't be _that_ bad?

"I might as well be kissing Heen!" She shot back, picking at the hem on the coverlet.

"Ouch…" Nalir winced, "That's pretty bad."

"It's not just the kissing. It's everything I told you about before. Ever since we got back, Markl just _assumes_ we're together! But Markl never asked me! I don't think he thinks he has to. He kissed me in front of Ryden! Thanks to that loose tongued-bean pole the whole _bloody_ palace is buzzing over it. Everything _thinks_ we're a couple. And the worst of it is nothing's changed. We're exactly where we were before. The only difference is I get beard burn from his slobbering."

This was not the conversation he expected to be having.

Nor did he expect the pang of hope it kindled in his chest.

He stamped it out. Like grinding an ember beneath his heel. Ignoring the pain it caused him. But the spark refused to die. Glowing within him brighter and brighter, in spite of the words of encouragement he offered.

"It's been what, three days. Give things a chance to settle. Perhaps he'll court you properly when things have settled."

"That's just it, I'm not sure I _want_ them to settle. I'm not sure this is what _I_ want! But everyone, even Martha and Barimus, assumes it _is_. They all seem so happy about it. I feel like I'd be letting them down. _All_ of them, not just Markl."

She tapered off, getting lost inside her own head. And he could feel her scowling. Reaching up, he smoothed her brow, trying to ease away the lines as she heaved another heavy sigh. And Nalir didn't know what else to say except the truth.

"You need to talk to him, Theresa. Tell him what's bothering you."

She shifted angrily, "I already did! In the supply room!"

"No. You didn't. You may have been _alluding,_ but what came out was about work. He's sensitive but not _that_ sensitive. Trust me. He still has _no_ idea. You need to be blunt with Markl. Tell him what you're telling me."

"I can't talk to him like I talk to you." She muttered into his shirt, "He doesn't listen the way you do."

"Then make him listen!"

"Ha! Easier said than done!"

"And why do you think I'm such an ass? It gets his attention!"

She heaved another sigh, turning into a tight knot under his hands, "Sorry… I shouldn't be telling you this. You should be resting. Here I'm soaking your shirt when you've got your own problems."

"I assure you I have plenty of shirts. Soak away."

"Goose!" She snorted, jostling him playfully. But she stilled after a moment, hands still closed over the front of his shirt. They were dozing. Until Theresa jerked awake.

"I really should go."

It was the third time she'd said it.

"I know."

And every time she did it felt like she was asking him to tell her otherwise. He couldn't. Not out loud at least. But he was still holding her tightly. He very much needed her right now. The same seemed true in reverse.

Stalemate.

***

Dawn came fluttering in through the windows.

Creamy and diffuse.

Blinking through the gray light, Nalir saw flakes falling beyond the curtains. Licking curls of white. No one could blame him if he chose to develop a healthy aversion to frozen water for the rest of his life. But no such dislike stirred in him now.

"Wake up Theresa." The cough stirred in his chest as if in anticipation of the coldly biting air outside. But he ignored it.

"Mmmm?" She stirred against his chest, blinking rapidly.

"It's snowing." He pointed out the window.

"Pretty." Her bleary eyes focused on the fat fluffy flakes.

He wasn't looking at the snow anymore. He was looking at her. Her green eyes were puffy and darkly circled, nose red and raw from rubbing. But she was still beautiful. So very beautiful.

"Happy birthday." Nalir smiled absently.

Her attention snapped back to him like iron to a loadstone. And she was frowning, surprise drawing her features stern. "How'd you know it's my birthday?"

He looked back for a moment, "Because it's my birthday too."

Then Theresa's eyes went wide, and not because of that revelation.

"Shit!" She exclaimed, rolling out of bed, leaving an increasingly familiar hole in his chest, _"Shit, shit, shit!"_

He knew why.

In spite of her protests she'd fallen asleep beside him.

It was nearly morning. The Healer's Wing was probably already bustling with nosy, busy-bodied Greens who would spread the word all across the palace if Theresa was seen creeping out of his room in the wee hours.

"I didn't mean to keep you," He sat up, watching in dismay as she cracked the door to the hall, peering outside only to close the door.

"I stayed 'cause I wanted to, Nalir. Nobody to blame but me." She didn't seem that upset, "Not to worry. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Pardon?"

She was at the closet now, baffling him as she opened the door and went inside like it was an elevator of some kind. But it was completely empty.

"I'll come back later… Thank you, by the way. For everything." A hint of color crept into her cheeks, her eyes oddly soft, "I mean it."

Everything? He wondered just what that word encompassed. But Nalir didn't have the courage to ask just yet. Then she shut the door. Nor did she emerge after a moment of patient waiting.

"Theresa?"

No reply. And a thread of annoyance ran between his shoulders.

"Surely you don't intend to stay in there all day?"

Still no reply.

Frowning, he climbed out of bed. And his knees bobbled infuriatingly as Nalir slowly made his way to the closet, using the footboard and chair for support. Opening the door. To find it completely empty.

Theresa was gone.

"And just what do you think you're doing out of bed?"

Nalir nearly fell in surprise as Clara bustled in from the hallway carrying a tray of what could only be breakfast. Putting the platter on the side table she looked him up and down as if he'd committed some mortal sin. He became very aware of the fact that she was taller than he was. Round faced, strong bodied with the dark hair and eyes of Ingarian farm stock. She could probably pick him up if she wanted to. Between her heavy gaze and his exposed shins, it was hard not to feel like a guilty five-year-old beneath her stare.

Instantly be bristled, barely checking his temper as he drew himself up, "I would like to request some proper clothing. I do not desire to be wandering around in a nightshirt like a senile old man."

"And where do you think you'll be wandering off to?" Her lips quirked.

"Just bring me some clothes!" He snapped back irritably.

With all the refinement he could summon, making a show of ignoring her, Nalir tucked the chair against the table and turned to breakfast as hunger struck him weak. There were boiled oats laced with honey and cream. Delicious! And toast with butter and strawberry jam. He steered clear the tangy smelling black tea, in spite of the fact that there was obviously milk in it. Probably sugar as well. But he laid out his napkin like a gentleman, unhurriedly stirring his tea.

"_Well!" _Again she left in a huff.

Shortly after a knock sounded on the door as he was shoveling the hot cereal into his mouth. It opened as he turned to scowl at the doorway, expecting a horde of greens ready to restrain him in some way.

Markl stood in the doorway.

A parcel of black cloth tucked under his arm.

And a spark of gladness went through Nalir at seeing him. There was no way to get around the fact that in spite of the fact that they were constantly at odds, they were friends. Good friends. It was impossible to do otherwise after spending so much time working together.

Nalir could count his friends on three fingers.

Markl. Ryden. And now Theresa.

But his apprentice brother was staring at him the way someone looked at a daemon. With awe and disquiet. Instantly Nalir's insides were burning with shame. Because he had betrayed him Betrayed his brother. It didn't matter how accidental or unplanned. It remained a betrayal. The lanky fellow loitered in the doorway awkwardly until Nalir waved him in, standing gingerly.

"One of the greens said you wanted some clothes." He set the stack of robes on the foot of the bed. "I brought you some things."

"Thank you. I do hate this night shirt."

"Yeah… I did too. They put me in one when I was here during the Daemon War." Markl was still frowning at him, looking away hastily as Nalir caught him staring.

"What?"

"You've got a black eye."

"Have I?" He put a hand to his face. "No mentioned that!"

"How'd that happen?"

Markl was pale and solemn faced with worry. It was beginning to wear on Nalir's nerves to have everyone gawking at him fearfully as if he were a ghost. He didn't want to think about the fact that he had apparently died. It wasn't the kind of thing you got used to.

"Eat this."

He handed Markl the toast, waylaying anything poetic or tender his apprentice brother might feel compelled to speak aloud. Markl was very skilled at putting his foot in his mouth. So Nalir saved him preemptively. Besides, there was no need for thanks. Picking up the robes, Nalir shook them out. They were wrinkled but they would do.

"Theresa punched me after the avalanche buried us. Apparently she's a claustrophobic."

"She is?" He chewed the toast absently, talking with his mouthful, spraying crumbs, "I didn't know that."

Nalir bit back words as a wick of anger lit up on his tongue. He scolded instead. Better than chew him out for being an unobservant idiot.

"Don't talk with your mouthful."

Ducking into the bathroom, Nalir changed hastily, trying to shed the nightshirt like the chill that clung to him. Going faint as he straightened. The world spun and the floor went soft beneath his feet, forcing him to turn and grip the sink. As the ringing in his ears subsided, Nalir stared at the glass. His father looked out at him. Just like in the painting over the fireplace. Except for the brilliant purple ring around his right eye. Apparently Theresa was left handed.

It took Nalir a second to see her standing behind him.

Looking over his shoulder.

Playing with the end of her thick silver braid.

Smiling.

The bathroom door flew opening behind him as he fell backwards.

"Nalir!?" Markl had him by the arms, hoisting him upright.

Still weak in the knees, the pale faced Mardan pointed back the way he came. "Y-your sister's in there…"

"Drie?" He peered thru at the empty mirror, nonplused, "Nox probably asked her to check in on you to make sure you're okay."

Nalir came up short, "The Prince of Stars?"

"Yeah. He's the one that pulled you out of the snow."

The floor tipped again.

"Whoa!" Markl dragged him to the chair, "You okay?"

"Tell me what happened." He gripped his brother's arm, "Now."

"Y-you died, Nalir."

"I know that! What happened after that!?"

Markl relayed a very succinct explanation of how he'd come to the Healer's Wing, sparing no detail. Right up to how Theresa kept hope alive by breathing for him and Healer Yewin restarting his heart with a shock of electricity that might as well be magic.

Yewin.

Nalir's blood boiled at the man's name. Because his hand was in this. Nalir could see the shadow of it in all the possibilities he'd worked through his head while trapped in the herb closet buried beneath a mountain of snow. But he'd get to that soon enough. And he dwelled on darker thoughts.

"How many?"

"I'm sorry?" Markl stammered.

"How many died in the crash!?

"Everyone." The Wallmaker's son whispered, "Everyone except Theresa and Theodrick."

The last words yanked him back from the brink, keeping him afloat in the sea of despair that threatened to drown him.

"Theodrick?" He repeated the name, trying to put a face to the man. And found himself remembering the young Guard who had saluted him at the mouth of the Airship loading bay. His jaunty blond moustache tweaked into splinters by the wind from the engines.

"Where is he?"

"H-here…" Markl was staring at him strangely.

"Take me to him." Nalir demanded, standing in spite of burn in his chest.

"I'm not sure if Martha wants you up yet."

"_Black bricks, _Markl! Just take me!"

Wordlessly his apprentice brother stood and Nalir followed. In the hallway the Greens divided around Markl like water flowing around a stone, and the thin Mardan followed in his shadow as they wound through the various wards and corridors of the Healer's Wing. Things quieted as they ducked down a narrow hallway, entering into the Intensive Ward, as advertised by a plaque on the wall discouraging noise of any kind.

Nalir's insides cringed from the smell in the air.

Suffering and fear.

They stopped at a doorway towards the end.

And Nalir grabbed Markl's arm again as he reached for the latch.

"Is it bad?"

"Yeah…" The tall wizard looked away, his brown eyes more than troubled, "He's burned all over. Even inside his lungs. Martha an' Yewin've done all they can. But some things even magic can't do."

Nalir's insides went blank as he pushed in front of Markl, knocking quietly. Sad and drawn, Ryden opened the door. He filled the frame with his height, although three of him shoulder to shoulder could have easily squeezed past the threshold.

"_Shit Bricks!"_ Ryden whispered, still staring, "You're awake."

His friend looked at him the same way Markl had.

Like he was a ghost.

He had good reason. The last time Ryden'd seen him, he was dead.

Dead.

Nalir was getting tired of that word.

It seemed to be chasing him around a lot since he'd woken up.

"How is he?" Nalir was looking around the Guardsman at the be-curtained bed. It was swathed with netting. Ryden waved them in, shutting the door, following his gaze as his dark eyes filled with trouble.

"Sleeping. They're keeping him heavily drugged. Even breathing hurts."

Nalir could hear the rasping drawing beyond the curtains.

His heart clenched cold with dread.

"Hey, Nally…" Ryden shuffled next to him like an anxious scarecrow, dropping a huge hand on his shoulder, "I just wanted to say thanks…"

"Don't!" Nalir cut him off sharply, although he let the hand remain, "Please, don't... I would have done the same for you or anyone with me. The way people keep thanking me for saving Theresa, it makes me feel like they're _surprised_ that I did anything at all… Do people really hate me that much?"

Markl and Ryden exchanged uneasy glances over the top of his head.

"Nobody hates you, Nalir." The Guardsman answered as if appalled, "You're a hero, you know."

"No… I'm not." He muttered, fighting the ghost of a cough.

He brushed past them both before the sting in his eyes got any worse. Going to the chair beside the bed. Sitting. Otherwise his legs would have folded. Because Theodrick was completely covered with bandages save his mouth and eyes. Red and yellow stains touched the white gauze on his chest and face, lips blistered and bloody. But the poor man was anything but asleep.

"Who's there?" Theodrick's voice sounded like the rubbing of dry sand. And his blue eyes turned towards him, whites almost red with ruptured capillaries.

"Nalir." It was all he could manage to say.

"S-sir!" The white of his teeth showed as he grimaced in pain, "Glad... You're alright!"

"You honor me with your concern, Guardsman." Nalir fell back on propriety. Sometimes it was all that held him up, "I am glad to see you again."

The grimace turned to a grin if only for a moment, "Likewise, sir."

It was becoming too much for Nalir.

All this man's suffering. All his pain.

It was all his fault.

"I… I'm sorry, Guardsman. I'm so very sorry…" Elbows on his knees, the Mardan leaned towards the man, "What can I do for you? Name it and it will be done."

"Sir?"

A bandaged hand uncurled, reaching for him. Nalir parted the curtain and took it, surprised by the strength of Theodrick's grip as he grinned in agony, forcing the words free of his scalded lips.

"Lord Barimus… Tell him… Not a malfunction. Not the engines… Was in storage! I saw! _I saw!_ _Not a malfunction!_"

"It's alright, Theodrick! Calm down!"

"_Tell him!"_ The burned man nearly pulled him from the chair, growing increasingly agitated.

"I will! I will tell him!"

"Thank you… Thank you…" Theodrick released him, collapsing back onto the bed, wheezing heavily.

"S-should I get a Green?" Markl was at his side, pale as the snow outside. So was Ryden. Although the Guardsman looked far more troubled than the Wallmaker's son. His dun eyes far too knowing for Nalir to pass over

Nalir towed them both out of the room, giving Markl a push down the hall, "Go. Find a Green"

"R-right!" His apprentice brother went striding away on his long legs, kicking up a wind in his wake. As soon as he was around the corner, out of earshot, Nalir rounded on his reedy childhood friend.

"What did Lord Barimus and Captain Peoter find in the wreckage?"

Ryden gaped at him like a catfish, "How the hell do you know…!?"

"Never mind that, just tell me. Was it sabotage?"

"Y-yes…" Ryden was still staring at him like he'd sprouted a third eye, "There were mundane incendiaries. Someone damaged the magical secondaries just in case all three didn't go off."

Nalir blinked, "Three?"

He'd never seen Ryden so serious, "One in the engines, one in the room directly beneath the Royal King's Chamber, and one planted beneath the table in the conference room where you and Theresa were. That bomb didn't go off. We found it intact beneath what was left of the table. According to Peoter and Seran, if it had gone off you'd both be dead."

Dead. The word haunted Nalir.

And his mind began to run like the gears of a clock.

It didn't add up. The whole scenario just described was far beyond his mother. She didn't know the slightest thing about chemistry let alone machinery. And she could hardly kill a spider let along commit mass murder.

And a chill touched his insides.

Because he may have made a grave mistake.

Perhaps she had been telling the truth?

Perhaps she hadn't known!?

But then who had planted the bombs?

And his insides lurched, because he had an idea.

"Do you have any leads on who planted the bombs?"

"No…" Ryden pulled at the bottom of his uniform, straightening his jacket, "But the Wallmaker is working on dismantling it. Master Barimus says Wizard Howl might be able to get something out of the components. He thinks…"

Nalir threw up his hand, cutting off his friend as someone came back around the corner. It was Markl. And in his wake came the Herbalist herself. That was not quite what Nalir intended when he sent his apprentice brother looking for help. Martha came up short as she saw him, her green eyes widening in shock. And she towered up, filling the hallway as she stormed towards them, her gaze fixed on him with ferocious intent.

"You!" Her finger stabbed at him, "Back to bed!"

He balked a moment, half expecting to be struck by lightning. Risking life and limb, Nalir drew himself back into the most graceful bow he could summon, and told the Herbalist no.

"With respect, Lady Martha, I cannot. I must see Master Howl at once."

Stymied, she stared at him, transfixed. As though he'd turned into a bird or a fish. She shook herself, but her hands had yet to go to her hips. If anything a hint of gentleness has unpinched her features. So there was still hope.

"It can wait." She pronounced heavily.

"Again, Lady Martha, I apologize for being contrary." He smiled his most disarming smile, rewarded as a hint of red crept into her cheeks, "It must be now."

A shadow passed across her eyes, which Nalir immediately saw and recognized. And intuition flashed inside his head like a freshly opened window. She knew. Knew it was no accident. Knew he must know as well. And the Herbalist's eyes went flinty as she turned to her nephew.

"Take him."

"Y-yes, Aunt Martha."

Markl went back the way he came, fleeing as if for his life.

Nalir followed before the Herbalist could change her mind, half running to keep up with Markl's long legs. Wordlessly they flowed through the Healer's Wing, bursting out into the Palace halls, weaving among all the rushing servants carrying train loads of gaudy garlanding and trim. A whole forest of freshly cut conifers burst from an elevator followed shortly by buckets of red waxy holly. The Royal Winter Ball was swiftly approaching and all of Kingsbury was preparing for the annual celebration. The back corridors would be a shuffling madhouse for nearly another week. But they weren't going anywhere near the Grand Hall. They were headed for the Royal Sorcerer's suite.

"Slow down!" Nalir gasped as he bent in half. "I can't keep up!"

He was forced to sit on the rug in a quiet corner as a fit of coughing seized his chest. Markl paced back and forth as he hacked, anything but sympathetic. As soon as he was able to breathe again, his apprentice brother rounded on him, brown eyes as fierce as his aunt's.

"You want to tell me what's going on!?"

Still wheezing, Nalir scowled as Markl loomed, resisting the urge to kick his shins, "Master Barimus… hasn't said anything… to you?"

That was a complete surprise. But then again Barimus hadn't mentioned anything to him either. Unfortunately that meant finding some way of keeping it from Markl until he figured out why.

"No." Markl put his hands on his hips. It was hard for Nalir not to laugh. The motion didn't work for him the way it did for Martha or Theresa, "He's been as tight lipped as Howl since you got pulled from the ice. But apparently _you_ know something I don't, so out with it!"

"Not here," Nalir shook his head, "Who knows who could be listening."

"Fine. At the castle then. But you _will_ tell me."

The Mardan brindled at his brother's overbearing attitude, "Keep this up and you're not getting anything from me but a swift kick in the pants."

"_Tch..." _The Wallmaker's son grinned down at him, "With those stubby legs? You couldn't reach."

"You're being an ass. That's my job. Now get me off this floor. My legs aren't working."

"You sure you're okay?" The look was back in Markl's eyes as he hoisted him up off the runner.

"I'm fine." Nalir lied, because he was more than a little dizzy. There just didn't seem to be enough air. He kept his hand on the wall as they continued towards their master's office, determined not to have to sit down again. Diverting his apprentice brother as best he could, "Lady Martha wouldn't have let me go if she thought anything otherwise."

"Dunno about that." Markl looked a little bewildered, "She's got a soft spot for you. I've never seen her let anyone tell her no before."

Another reason to see Howl and Barimus as soon as possible.

He had to know exactly what his Masters' knew.

His mother's life depended on it.

They were just outside their teacher's office now.

"Oh, by the way, don't let the mess upset you. Things have been hectic while you were gone."

As he opened the door Nalir stopped dead in his tracks, appalled. Mounds of papers spilled across the great desk. Missives, letters, orders, and decrees all mixed in utter turmoil, dumping onto the floor without. Ringed with tea stains and… And crumbs! Everywhere there were crumbs! Asking him not to be upset was like asking fire not to burn or water not to flow!

"Did it never occur to you to stack these neatly? Or possibly sort them by type or task?" Nalir choked, trying not to have a fit.

"Why?" Markl scooted a few pages with the toe of his boot, "They'll just get too high and fall over anyway."

"But these could be important!"

Scooping one off the floor, his apprentice brother cleared his throat and read aloud in his best impression of courtly annunciation, "Minutes from the Tri-Council committee for the advancement of Uniform Ingarian Dress Codes. Present topic of discussion, the height of ladies' hats."

Nalir blinked. Ladies hats?

"Never mind!" He snarled, pushing past his grinning apprentice brother, snatching the papers out of his hand, gathering them up off the floor, dumping them back onto the table.

Then Nalir slapped his hands against the surface.

The pages jumped. Shocked upright like sleeping soldiers called to muster. They danced midair, shuffling, sorting, and gathering in a myriad of whispering voice. And as the flurry subsided, neat piles graced the table's surface with perfect order.

"The ones here are urgent," Nalir instructed, indicating the shortest stack before turning a disdainful finger at the largest pile, "I usually put the ones about ladies hat's into the fire."

"Did you make that charm?" Markl was impressed.

"Yes. I did," Nalir preened, "It's embedded in the table. So you have no excuse."

Markl snorted as they faced the adjoining doors, turning the adjacent dial to blue. Like gears turning, it clicked mechanically, dinging as if it had successfully toasted a piece of bread. But Nalir felt the surge of magic go shivering up his spine, tiny nipping sparks that set his senses on fire.

This was real magic.

Not some trifling enchantment to sort missives.

His apprentice brother set and reworked the portal magic monthly.

He had to. Because Nalir couldn't.

Markl pulled open the door, revealing familiar stone steps. The distant burn of charcoal tickled in his nose. Daemon's breath. But a flurry of activity was going on in the front room of the moving castle.

"Shit!" Markl slapped his hand over his mouth and then grimaced, "I totally forgot… Today's Theresa's birthday!"

Before he could protest Markl pushed Nalir through the portal and shut the door behind them. The world snapped like a rubber band. And the Mardan's senses reeled for a moment as the closeness of the Castle's interior suddenly became real. Markl never seemed to mind the transition, but then again, he'd grown up on portal travel.

"Go on in." The lanky wizard waved him up the stairs as he turned the dial to yellow. There were far more colors on the Wallmaker's dial; a testament to their mastery of the craft. "Howl's probably up in the shop. Be back soon."

He yanked the door open on a bricked courtyard that definitely was not Kingsbury. Snow piled at least three inches thick outside. Nalir shivered as the cold wind blew right through him.

"I still need to get her a present! And I saw a perfect pair of muck boots just around the corner from Ceasari's."

"No, Markl!" Nalir called after him as his apprentice brother went striding off through the snow and around the corner, heedless to his cries, "Flowers! Not muck boots!"

Closing the door against the billowing draft, Nalir turned slowly, only now aware of intense scrutiny on his back.

At the top of the stairs stood three blondes.

Girls of cascading size and age: 13, 9, and 7.

Perfect replicas of their mother, all the way to their perfect pink pinafores.

And he shrank from them as though they were daemons.

He would have preferred daemons to Milly, Tilly, and Lily.

Markl's cousins.

"_NALIR!"_ They screamed in perfect unison, rushing down at him in a flood of petticoats and sweet perfume.


	4. Chapter 4

Ahem... *'.'*

Again, because Fanfiction doesn't allow MA content, if you'd like to read the more mature version of chapter 4, please visit mediaminer and do a title search.

As always, thank you very much for reading. Also, keep an eye out in the future for a "Spirited Away "continuation story... '.^

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Nalir's back hit the front door as Markl's cousin's seized him.

Their pink frilly skirts positively filled the landing. To say that his color palette was somber was an understatement indeed. Comparatively he was _downing_ in color; golden curls, blue eyes, periwinkle socks and rosy smiles. Milly and Tilly grabbed his arms as Lily, the littlest, found purchase on the front of his robes. Much to his dismay he found her hands were sticky. With what only the stars knew.

"We heard you were sick!" Tilly squealed as she squeezed his arm.

"Auntie Martha said you got buried in snow!" Milly frowned as she attempted unsuccessfully to smooth out the wrinkles on his shirt.

"You look fine to me!" Lilly yanked on the hem of his robe, trying to pull him down to her height.

"Don't worry; we'll make you feel better."

"Let's brush your hair!"

"Or you could tell us a story!"

"We love your stories."

"Oh, yes! Tell us a story!"

"I want to hear about the star twins!"

Abruptly the eldest two turned away from him, rounding on each other. Hands firmly planted on their hips as they scowled furiously, pouting as their platinum curls bounced. And Nalir didn't dare move a muscle beyond breathing for fear of getting pulled into the contest of wills.

"No, we've heard that one already!"

"But I like that one!"

"I want to hear a new story!"

"Why do you always have to get your way!?"

"Because I'm the eldest. That's why!"

"Stop fighting!" Lilly pushed her way between them, stamping her little feet, "You two are such ninnies!"

"We are not, ninnies!" Milly and Tilly shot back in perfect unison.

"Hey!? What's going on down here?!"

Akarshan appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked more and more like Howl with every day. Emeralds glittered at his ears, points of brightness beneath the messy tangle of his black hair. The young wizard had worn the talismans for almost three years now. Three years earlier than any other magi Nalir knew of besides Howl. Akarshan was a prodigy of magic. Like his mother, he'd never set foot in any class at the Academy, but the thirteen year old had mastered spells Nalir couldn't begin to imagine.

Shan's sapphire eyes went wide with shock as they fixed on him.

Silently Nalir pleaded for help.

He most definitely did not want his hair brushed or braided. Invariably that's what ended up happening when he was left at the mercy of Lady Lettie's children. For some reason they liked him. And he couldn't fathom why.

The girls pressed in around him as if squaring off for battle.

"Go away!" Lilly shrilled as she snared his knees.

"We found him first!" Milly almost pulled him over as her arms went around his neck. "He's ours!"

"Oh, yeah?" Shan frowned, hanging from the banister as he crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his cousins.

"Yeah!" Lilly answered back, stomping her feet and blowing a vibrant raspberry.

Shan's eyes flashed with magic as the floorboards beneath their feet heaved and rolled, snapping free to crack open like hungry mouths biting around their ankles. The girls screamed and squealed, seizing their skirts as they dropped him and went tearing up the stairs in a rush. Nalir could still hear their tearful wails in the distance.

"You okay?" Shan was still hanging over the banister, frowning at him dubiously.

"Yes." Nalir smoothed his robes, "Thank you."

"S'okay." Instantly he perked up, his eyes lighting on fire with anticipation, "Hey, you'll never believe the size of the cake Auntie Lettie's bringing! You gonna stay for Theresa's birthday party?"

Nalir blanched. "P-party?"

"Yeah, I figured that's why Markl dragged you over here so early. So you can help set up." Shan leaned over the railing, pointing a finger right into his face, "_Wow! _Nice shiner! Didja get into a duel or something?"

Nalir missed all of Akarshan's words save _party_. And his stomach went cold as he took a good look at his state. _Sticky_ rumpled robes. Black eye. Unbathed and unshaven. He was in no position to be attending anything or anyone, least of all at party at the _Wallmaker's_ castle.

"_Akarshan!" _Lady Sophie's voice thundered from the distance.

"Oh, crap!" The young wizard cringed, shrinking down onto the stairs, and peering over the lip of the landing, "The little brats snitched on me!"

"Akarshan!" The silver sorceress burst from a door at the foot of the stairs, dark eyes stern with displeasure. Although it was hard to find her wholly intimidating since she was absolutely covered in multi-colored confetti.

"What have I told you about using magic to scare your cousins!?"

"But, mom!" He drawled petulantly, pointing back down the stairs, "They were going to _enslave_ Nalir! I had to fight them off somehow!"

The anger went out of her in an instant as she stood on her toes, looking over her son's head to where he stood still lurking on the landing. Shock set her features blank.

"H-hello, Lady Sophie." He came up the stairs and dropped into the elegant bow that precluded his honest apology, "Do forgive me for intruding."

She tackled him almost as hard as the triplets had; hugging him so hard he felt his ribs creak. Great good stars, she was strong!

"I'm so pleased to see you awake!" Sophie beamed as she finally drew back, still squeezing his hands, "Have you eaten? Can I get you anything? Tea? Breakfast? Honestly, the girls and I were about to stop to have lunch here as soon as Lettie gets back with the cake. Do you like black forest ham? No? I think I might have some turkey if you prefer it."

Nalir gaped, shying from her attention. Lady Sophie was so very wholesome, thoroughly motherly and twice as unassuming. It was difficult to remain untouched by the joy she took in sharing whatever she had to offer. It was even more difficult to remember what she had done during the Wars.

"T-thank you. Ham is fine. Please don't trouble yourself on my account."

"Nonsense!" She exclaimed cheerfully, pulling him to a seat at the table as the kettle flicked over the empty hearth to boil. "The least I can do is feed you after all you've done."

"Can I have honey in my tea?" Shan climbed onto the bench beside him.

"No tea for you, young man," Sophie eyes him icily, "Don't think I've forgotten about your mischief. Go apologize to your cousins."

"Awww…" Shan wilted across the table cloth oh so dramatically, as if he'd been mortally wounded, "Do I have to?"

"_March!"_ Sophie pointed at the archway, and the young wizard sulked all the way into the adjoining room.

"Honestly, that boy's as bad as his father," She muttered under her breath, pouring steaming water from the kettle into a glazed earth ware tea pot. It was all too familiar to Nalir's eyes, and could only be described as sturdy.

"What a lovely tea pot, Lady Sophie."

"Theresa makes them. She's quite a potter." Again she beamed as she sat it in front of him, conjuring from the side board a matching cup and saucer with a crook of her finger. "Sugar and cream?"

"Yes, please." But Nalir was still frowning at the mug, looking at it in a whole new light. "I had no idea she was an artist."

"She has many talents. If only Martha'd let go enough to let her put them to good use. The girl's a woman now. I had two sons by the time I was nineteen." The silver haired woman grimaced, biting her tongue as she sat across from him, "Will you listen to me gossip!"

"I didn't hear a thing, Lady Sophie," he poured the first of the brew into her cup, "Allow me."

"Why, thank you. I can only hope some of your good manners will rub off on my sons. Maybe even my husband if I'm lucky." She winked at him, spooning sugar into her cup.

He waited a moment before circling back to what she'd let slip, posing his words as carefully as possible, "Is lady Martha worried then? About Theresa?"

"They both are. Markl's as bad as my sister." A line formed between her pale brows, revealing the many others that gathered at the corners of her eyes and mouth, which slowly pulled into a frown by the trouble that showed heavily in her eyes. "I only hope that _all this_ doesn't make them get carried away. They can't keep her locked away forever. She's too clever for that. And they'll only doom themselves to heartache if they try."

All this… That was putting it mildly.

Nalir bent over his cup of tea, brooding.

"You look about the same as I feel." Sophie's eyes were fixed on him consideringly, "Please tell me you didn't sneak out of the Healer's Ward."

"I assure you I left with Lady Martha's approval," Nalir's eyes went to the empty hearth as a surge of heat flowed into his cheeks. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "Where is Calcifer?"

"In the workshop with Howl." She was still regarding him intently, making him thoroughly nervous, reminding him all too much of Martha. They were, of course, half sisters.

"Do you think he would object to an interruption? I must confess it is the reason I came. I had no idea about the party; otherwise I would not have come unannounced."

"Nonsense!" She said again, putting her hand on his, her smile more than genuine. "Our home is your home. Howl and I wouldn't have it any other way."

The flush in his cheek intensified until it felt like he could have set the kettle on fire, "You honor me…"

Her smiled softened as her voice lowered, becoming just for him, as if what she shared was some kind of secret, "I do adore your good manners, Nalir, but at some point you're going to have to get used to being part of this family."

She stood briskly, shaking out her apron as a knock sounded on the front door. With a wave of her hand it burst open, letting through a constant stream of uniformed attendants bearing an entire feast in pieces. Like magic, tables, chairs, chandeliers, stacks of red linens, and platters upon platters of delicious and mouthwatering dishes scrambled their way up the stairs and through the living room through the archway that seemed to grow or stretch depending on what needed to make its way through. And at the rear of the armada of food came the commandant herself.

Lettie flounced up the stairs wrapped in a white fur coat, a fresh dusting of snow on the grand sweep of her red velvet hat. She paused to watch as the rear guard hurry past, pointing and shouting orders like a Queen.

"Mind that the meat doesn't go cold! And keep those cherries iced! The cake is on its way so make room on the main table! And I want lots of holly! Lots and lots of holly."

For some reason Nalir found himself on his feet standing at attention, as if awaiting orders. Lettie had that effect on

"Nalir, dear!" She came at him like her daughters, seizing his face to plant a wet kiss on his cheek, only then drawing back to frown at his eye, "Goodness! Wherever did you get that!?" Patting his cheek, she turned to Sophie, "Is he staying for the party? Do say yes."

"Of course he's staying for the party." She was gathering up their dishes, the secret smile still curling her lips, "Go on up to the workshop, Nalir. We'll come get you later."

Wordlessly he retreated up the stairs, following the narrow corridor as it wound higher and higher. The hallway was never the same. Every time he'd visited his teacher here doors appeared and disappeared. Entire floors would come into being for a summer function only to cease to exist the next morning. But no matter how the innards of the castle changed, Nalir eventually found his way to the workshop. The triangular room perched atop the castle, glass windows offering a spectacular view of the Wastes. After the Daemon Wars the wandering castle became somewhat sedentary. Calcifer's presence was required more and more frequently at Tri-Council meetings. So like a wandering bit of dandelion fluff finally coming to rest, the great rattling bulk settled itself on the shores of Star Lake. Nalir could see the glimmers of the water through the tiny window atop the stairs as he paused to catch his breath at the only door the hallway offered.

He knocked, still gasping.

And knocked again when after a moment no one answered.

Someone scuffled with a series of bolts and latches behind the metal hatch. And finally Howl threw it open. Nalir threw himself backwards, anything to escape proximity to the black expression on the Wallmaker's face. Lady Sophie had guessed her husband's mood wrong. Wizard Howl was most definitely not in the mood for visitors.

"A-apologies Master Howl! I didn't mean to intrude!"

Unceremoniously, his second master yanked him inside by the front of his robes, storming wordlessly back to into an empty space cleared in the middle of the wedge shaped room. The settings of curling tubes and bubbling beakers were gone along with the sextants, globes, and cantilevers that held balanced bits of stone and crystal. All the chimes were silenced. And the books and charts usually strewn across the tables had been shelved and stowed.

All to make room for the charred piece of wood.

A shielded circle etched into the floor, circumscribing the blistered remains of half a blackened table. It tipped on one leg rickety. But trapped on its surface, clinging like dew on a spider's web, were the shards of Suliman's Glass. Nalir's heart nearly stopped as he looked at the broken pieces. And he only tore his gaze away as an eerie prickle danced across his skin.

Beyond the table, stretched out in a chair like an old man tired of standing, was Heen. The Late Sorceress Suliman's errand dog looked at him with a heavy gaze neither friendly nor hostile. Dog or daemon, daemon or dog, he had yet to decide. Whatever the creature was, he gave Nalir the creeps. Although his tail thumped a time or two as the fire daemon started up from the blackened trivet on the chair's arm.

"Hey, kid. Good to see you alive."

Calcifer's comment did not improve the Wallmaker's mood. Smoothing the back of his hair almost obsessively as he began pacing furiously. Nalir didn't really mind. It was a nice change to being squeezed, squished, cried upon, or shaken. Finally Howl threw a hand at the ruined table, pointing at something on the side he couldn't see. Coming around, Nalir stared at the tiny box screwed into the surface below. Looking at made his insides match the icicles and frost covering the deck and railings beyond the windows.

"I was sitting right there." Nalir whispered, "I didn't even notice it."

"And why would you?!" Calcifer popped nastily, glowing a ruddy brown, "There's not a stitch of magic in it. Nothing that could've been detected by the anti-curse charms set in the room."

"Is it still active?"

"Yes." It was the first thing Howl had spoken aloud since he'd arrived. His master was staring at the bomb with open hatred, "And I can't retrieve the shards of Suliman's Glass for repair until it's been dismantled. Unfortunately, it could go off if I attempt to dismantle it. And I can't risk destroying it because it's our only lead in discovering who did this."

Nalir's insides went colder still.

"Any ideas as of yet?"

"None!" Howl spat, back to pacing.

But Nalir's mind was coiling, slowly turning, and generating momentum.

"What if we mirror it onto another surface?"

"Huh?" Calcifer let loose a chittering pop.

"Take a picture of it with magic." He came as close to the barrier boundary as he dared, peering at the tiny box, "All imprints, residues, and impressions should transfer to the ghost. You could pick that apart rather than compromise original. And you could make as many impressions as you like."

Howl stilled, staring at him instead of the table. "Hadn't thought of that."

Suliman's dog wheezed, thumping his tail against the dusty chair seat.

"Heen says he thinks that might actually work." Calcifer sniffed, eyeing the old dog, "I gotta agree with you… He's pretty smart for a human."

The Wallmaker laughed his foul mood breaking as he clapped the young wizard on the shoulder, "Good work, Nalir!"

"T-thank you, Master Howl…"

But Nalir was back to staring in dismay at the shattered pieces of crystal. It was a selfish thought wholly irrelevant to his current predicament, but without the orb there was no way he would ever be able to do the amount of work Barimus required of him. His magic had returned, as was evident by his use of the sorting charm. But he hadn't attempted mindspeak or scrying. Hadn't dared for fear of what he might find. Because if that was gone he had nothing left to offer his Masters.

"What is it?" Howl's hand had gone heavy on his shoulder.

"Do you think you'll be able to repair Suliman's Glass?"

Howl blinked and then smiled carelessly. "Of course. There's nothing broken that can't be fixed somehow."

Nalir looked away, not so sure if he agreed with his teacher's idealism.

Suddenly Heen alerted, sitting bolt upright before scrambling off the chair to hide under the rug and cushions stacked in the corner.

"Uh-oh…" Calcifer crackled loudly, turning a sickly shade of teal. "The women are coming up the stairs. You're not going to get out of this meal."

A knock sounded on the door to the workshop door.

"We know you're in there!" Sophie called from the other side, "And you know this door won't stop me."

Howl sighed, "Apparently its lunch time."

***

Patiently, as patiently as he could, Nalir held still as Tilly brushed his hair.

They'd cornered him in the party room after lunch. The Wallmaker had added on a huge new chamber off of the kitchen. And it was decorated to the rafters with winter trimmings. He especially liked the illusory icicles encrusting the chandeliers. But the cake was like nothing he'd ever seen. Four tiers of white delicately powdered frosting decorated in swirling patterns with tiny sugar crystals that glistened blue and iridescent colors like droplets of ice. The Hatter sisters had pulled out all the stops for Theresa's birthday party, as was evident by the sumptuous buffet and piles of gifts. Although Nalir's heart couldn't help but sink with dismay as he picked out the shiny new muck boots nestled among the pretty ribbons and papers. He heaved a sigh. But it was better than nothing.

Now it was up to the Herbalist to secure the guest of honor.

Unfortunately, that left him at the mercy of Markl's cousins.

It wasn't all bad.

Having his hair brushed actually felt kind of good.

Behind Tilly stood Milly, who had finished brushing her sister's hair and moved on to braiding her curls into French twists. He'd managed to dissuade Tilly from braiding or tying his hair up in ribbons. Lilly had parked herself in his lap, reading aloud from a book he'd given her last Solstice, turning the pages with her sticky fingers.

"Nally, what's this word?" Lilly patted his chest and then pointed.

"Hold still." Tilly turned his head forward as his chin dipped.

Markl snickered.

And Nalir bristled.

Glaring from the corners of his eyes as his apprentice brother.

Markl was grinning liked an idiot from across the room where he held aloft loops of yarn that Mrs. Fairfax was slowly winding into a ball. The round little beekeeper was nothing but one big smile. Beside her sat Granny Witch who was humming tunelessly. Heen curled up in her lap, basking in front of the merrily crackling Calcifer. The watery-eyed old woman was putting the finishing touches on longest purple scarf Nalir'd ever seen. It was quite lovely in a chunky rustic kind of way. On another couch in front of the grand fireplace, Sophie sat beside Howl with a laundry basket between her feet. Her needle and thread lifted and dropped as she darned socks and mended shirts by hand. _By hand!_ Not with magic. This absolutely baffled Nalir.

And the Great Wizard Howl?

War hero.

Wallmaker.

His illustrious teacher was snoring, his long arm dangling over the back of the couch with one foot propped up on the lip of the hearth. Shan was sprawled on the floor under his legs, reading an enormous book that looked far beyond his cousins. And the little wizard poked his father from time to time whenever his snoring grew too intense. Sophie's step mother, Honey and her second husband Mr. Hausa sat similarly on a settee beside the Wallmakers. The old man's bald pate nodded from time to time as his wife embroidered his handkerchiefs.

Quiet and content, they sat together.

A warm tickle worked its way through Nalir's chest as he looked from the corners of his eyes at the Wallmaker's family.

They were not at all the way the stories made them out to be.

They were real people.

He reveled in that secret knowledge.

Gladness spread through him.

Easing the pain and the worry snarled and knotted at his core.

Because this was the way families were supposed to be.

And he was glad that if only for an evening.

If only as a visitor.

He could be a part.

"Nally!" Lilly pulled on his shirt, eking another snigger from her cousin.

He flicked his eyes down to the page, careful not to move.

"Impetuous."

She repeated it, and then looked back up at him, "Whatsit mean?"

"Let's ask cousin Markl."

"Dunno, Nally." His teeth flashed white, "Whatsit mean?"

The hot reply he held ready died on his lips as Lettie came tearing into the room, followed shortly by her husband Alex. The short spoken baker always seemed to be chasing after his wife.

"_She's coming!"_ She hushed, waving her hands about as she nattered around the room, making sure everything was just right.

They were all on their feet as Martha came striding into the room holding a check list, looking for all the world like she was on business. Nalir scooped up Lilly as she pulled on his tunic, holding her aloft so she could see. And he caught a glimpse of the herbalists face. It was alight with glee.

Theresa came in her wake, looking somber and attentive.

Although she skidded to a halt as they called out in unison.

"_**SURPSIE!"**_

Fireworks exploded and confetti popped as magic cascaded across the ceiling, filling the room with music and sweet smells. Theresa's face broke into the most elated of smiles as multi-colored paper rained down on her from above.

Nalir's heart jumped at seeing her.

Squeezed inside his chest until the point of pain.

Although he fell still as Markl came over and put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her sideways, knocking her off kilter. With a wild laugh she threw her arms around his neck and he caught her around the waist. Picking her up. Spinning her in a circle only to set her down and kiss her on the mouth.

Jealousy ignited inside Nalir.

So strong it exceeded him for a moment.

And it took every shred of self control he possessed to snatch it back, shove it down, smother it behind a tight expression of polite enjoyment. Carefully he set Lily on her feet, stepping back from her, stepping back from all of them. Until he stood alone at the rear of the room.

An outsider.

As it should be.

Because very abruptly he realized he should not be here.

Ducking out the doorway to the rear of the room, he pushed out onto one of the roofed walkways that ran the exterior of the Castle. Cold bit through his robes as snow kicked up into his face, falling in swirls from the dark sky. But he welcomed the chill that chased him back through the glass door to the solarium beyond the kitchen archway.

Here he came up short.

Because Martha and Barimus were facing off on the landing.

The Herbalist stood on the top step, looming over her husband, trembling. And he stood a step or two below her, haggard with weariness that spread to his stooped shoulders.

"Where have you been!?" She hissed furiously. Nalir couldn't recall hearing her speak to Barimus with such unbridled anger, "You're late!"

"I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry! _Sorry!?_ You're missing _our_ daughter's birthday!"

"I know, Martha!" He bit back shortly, "It couldn't be helped!

She sputtered until he threw up his hand, silencing whatever she intended to throw at him.

"Theodrick is dead."

Nalir felt as if a hold had been punched in his chest. He caught the frame of the archway much the same way that Martha went perfectly still, gripping the banister until all the color drained from her hands. And Barimus continued as words failed his wife.

"Yewin was with him at the end. He did all he could."

"H-how?" She breathed, bending her head until her shoulders began to shake. Barimus closed the distance between them, collecting her into his arms. And they stood together in the dark as laughter filtered back from the party. But Nalir focused all his attention to the stairs, straining to hear every word.

"A seizure. Yewin said his body just couldn't cope with the damage."

"S-someone should tell his family." Martha hushed tearfully.

"He was from Tyrn." His teacher's voice was thick with emotion, "I plan on leaving as soon as I wish Theresa happy birthday."

"It's not fair." She sobbed quietly, still holding him, "It's just not fair."

Martha was right.

So very right in so many ways.

And Nalir felt himself coming forward out of the dark corner even before he realized what he was doing. Compelled by the emptiness inside him. Desperate to fill it with some kind of purpose.

"I will go, Master Barimus."

"_Great bloody bricks!"_ The Royal Sorcerer flinched back as Martha started in his arms. They both stared, wide eyed and white, as if he was a ghost.

"I apologize for intruding, but I was just leaving and I couldn't help but overhear." Slowly, gravely, he bowed to his master, "Let me take word to Guardsman Theodrick's family in your stead. I know it may not mean as much coming from your apprentice, but I do not think Theodrick would have wanted you to part with your family on this occasion for his sake."

After a long moment Barimus led Martha off the stairs.

Making way for him to leave.

But his master caught his arm as he tried to hurry by.

"Dieoter…" And here he paused, his face crumbling into a mask of pain. And Nalir knew why. It wasn't the first time his Master had slipped in this manner.

"Peoter," He began again slowly, "Will know what to do. He, Ryden, and Seran will accompany you as an honor guard. Do not argue with me."

"The thought never crossed my mind, Master," He bowed again, gently reclaiming his arm. Then he turned to the Herbalist, avoiding her eyes as he produced a waxed paper envelop from his pocket. "Lady Martha, will you give these to her for me?"

She took it, frowning, "What are they?"

"Sunflower seeds."

He was down the stairs and back in the Royal Sorcerer's dark office before either one of them could say another word.

***

With a weary groan, Ryden plopped down into the nearest chair.

The Guards Hall was empty.

Not surprising considering it was very close to dawn.

Embers still burned in the pit fireplace at the center of the long. Peoter tossed a few logs on the remains of the pyre and poke the flames awake with a few shards of magic. Crouching in front of the licking tongues, he stared wordlessly as they grew longer and longer.

Even Seran looked bedraggled.

The trip to Theodrick's home hadn't taken long. But the time spent with his family seemed to stretch for ages. Ever detail of their suffering still etched on the inside of Ryden's skull. And he wasn't keen on shutting his eyes and having to relive it just yet. All of them were far from sleep. Even Nalir had followed them back to Red Hall instead of taking his leave in the Royal Sorcerer's Office. Like a shadow, he remained standing, pacing the length of carpet between Ryden's chair and the fire.

"I need a drink," Seran grated as he slowly eased himself into the chair across from Ryden's, propping his heavy boots on the table top.

"Whatcha have in mind?"

"I have a bottle of 20 year Tyrnese Scotch." Peoter spoke up from beside the hearth, "It was Dieter's."

After they all shared a quiet moment, their captain disappeared only to return with the bottle and four short glasses. Each he filled before pulling up two chairs, sitting in one and practically aiming the other at Nalir.

They'd been surprised when Nalir came back in Barimus' stead. The skinny Mardan proved his weight in gold that evening. Never had Ryden seen someone share and carry a family's grief with such genuine solemnity and quiet strength. But then again he had a lot of practice, which was probably why he always dressed like he was going to a funeral. They'd been more than glad to have him.

And during the trip something shifted between them.

The same something that was present at the table with them even now.

They'd left Kingsbury as soldiers.

But on the return their uniforms and titles didn't seem to matter anymore.

Kindred spirits, so the old wives tale went.

"I don't drink." Nalir admitted as he finally sat with them.

"No time like the present to start." Peoter flashed him a weak grin as he held his cup aloft. He had to clear his throat to get the words out straight, "To our fallen brothers and sisters."

Ryden knocked back his cup in one gulp, feeling the all too pleasant burn work its way down to the pit of his stomach. He'd sleep eventually. Although he was planning on not remembering anything by the time his head hit the hay.

Nalir surfaced from his glass coughing and sputtering, and Seran thumped him on the back with a gloved hand, a thin smile lighting up his flinty eyes.

"Atta-boy. That'll put hair on your chest."

"By the Wall…" The magi choked, "That stuff's liquid fire!"

"Another!" Peoter grimaced as he slammed down his glass and refilled, holding it up and looking at them expectantly. They followed suit.

"To our brothers and sisters still with us!" Seran grated, and they clinked their glasses, throwing back only to set up another round.

_"Whoo!"_ Nalir breathed, finally loosening up a little as he sat back, running a hand over his face, "I'm beginnin' to see why people like this stuff!"

Peoter grinned one of his now all too rare grins, "Tell me that again in the morning, little brother, when you wake up and see the other side of the coin."

"'Kay," he chortled, pouring for them with his graceful girly hands, nudging Ryden beneath the table with his foot, "Your turn."

"That's easy," he held his cup aloft, "_To women!_ May I find one sooner in my bed than the bottom of this drink finds _me_ in my bed!"

Seran and Peoter guffawed as they threw back their cups. And Ryden knocked back his, feeling the first curls of giddiness fogging his head. Although he was not nearly so gone that he missed the detachment suddenly withholding Nalir.

"What's this?!" Ryden prodded as he refilled their cups, "Has little Nally gone and got his heart broken?"

"What would you know of love, you letch!" Nalir kicked him hard under the table, going all red in the face.

"Hey! No spilling my drink!" But Ryden reached over and clapped him on the shoulder, "Sorry, broth'r-o-mine! No salt on the wound, eh?"

"S'fine!" He slurred back imperiously, holding his glass up for his toast. Although he sobered a moment before he spoke, "To family. As it is between us here. As it is between us all. May no poli'lical boundary, title, or meanness of spirit tear tha' from any of us."

"Here, here!" Seran and Peoter pounded their fists on the table top, once again throwing back their glasses.

Again.

And again.

And again. Until the bottle was empty. And poor Nalir was gripping the edge of the table as if his life depended on it.

"Cun som'un stop the table…" He murmured worriedly, "Aye wanna git off now."

"Tables no' spinnin', little brother." Peoter smirked, leaning heavily on his elbows, his green eyes glowing with mirth, "You are."

"Aye think we've done in Seran."

Ryden lifted his heavy head to regard the stone man. He was sprawled in his chair. Snoring loudly. As though there was a rock quarry in his gut slowly churning out gravel.

"Shou'd we put 'im to bed?" Nalir frowned at the big man as if sizing up how best to move him.

"Look a' you, mother hen!" Ryden sniggered.

"Yor no' gonna leave 'im there!?" Nalir was so incensed he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Oh, we've left Seran in worse places." Peoter tipped back his empty cup, frowning at its empty state. "Who's up fer another bottle?"

"Aye!" Ryden crowed.

"Nay…" Nalir sank his head into his hand.

"Nay and hay are fer horses, Nally-dear." Ryden thumped him on the back as Peoter stood and teetered off in search of more drink. "Yor ah man now! Yeh gotta drink like one!"

"'Kay…" The red faced Mardan reluctantly, surfacing from his hands to blink rapidly at the ceiling.

"Nice to have a bit of fun, eh?" Ryden hooked his arm around his little friend's shoulders, leaning heavily lest he fall over, "Yeh need the come drinkin' wid us more of'en. Git that rod out yer arse and git you loosened up a bit."

"Hope my mom's not watchin'…" Nalir smoothed his shirt and hair, although it didn't help in a bit, "She'd be pissed!"

"She spyin' now?" Ryden hunkered down, casting sly glances at the corners of the empty hall.

"Hope she is!" The little fellow lurched to his feet, weaving as he shook at fist at the ceiling, "'M _drunk_, mother! Whatcha think of tha'!?"

"Hah! That's the spirit, Nally-boy! You show her whose boss!"

"Yeah!" He sat down quickly, missing his seat, sprawling out on his back.

Ryden stared down at him for a stupid moment, and then peered down the hall where the Captain of the Red Guard had disappeared. "Hey, Nally… I don't think Peoter's comin' back…"

"Nah…" He wheezed from the floor.

"Oh, well… There's always tomorrow night. Although we might have teh save ourselves fer the wake. Tyranese love their wakes."

"Hey, Ryden?" Nalir pulled on his pant leg.

"Yeah?"

"I can't get up."

"S'okay… Neither can I."

Ryden looked up just as Theresa appeared beside the table.

"Hey!" He crowed, jostling at his friend with his foot, "Look, Nally! It's the birthday girl! Sit an' have a drink wid us, 'Resa!"

"No… No more drinking…" Nalir moaned weakly from the floor.

"Ryden." She was crossing her arms, "You've had enough to drink."

"Aye'm still 'wake. Aye dun wanna be 'wake. 'Cause then I'm gonna dream 'bout Theodrick's little sister... Stars above, she looked like mine… Dun wanna dream about anythin' 're anyone' least o' all _her!_" He pointed an accusing finger in her face as an angry catch in his throat set his eye's burning, "So don' look a' me like Martha! Don' you tell me nothing!"

She paled, taking a step back, startled by his words.

"Hey… Hey! Don' point a' her!" Nalir was slapping his leg.

"M'no' pointin' a' nobody." He pitched to his feet, almost falling over, driven by the welling sadness that was making his chest constrict, "M' gonna go find Pe'or an' carry on gittin' drunk!"

"No. You need to go to bed." Theresa pulled him to a stop.

"We dancin' now, 'Resa?" He giggled, grabbed her hands, yanking her round in a circle, "Wheee! A waltz fer teh birthday girl!"

"Let go, Ryden!" She stumbled as he stepped on her feet. "You're hurting me!"

"_Get your hands off her!"_ Nalir tore him free of the red-head.

Ryden snarled something unintelligible, spinning on his heel to take a swing at his friend. But his fist sailed right over his head. And something cracked him in the side of the head so hard he saw stars. He landed hard on his ass, getting a good jolt of sober as he stared up at Nalir. The little Magi was seething with fury, fists clenched and looking for all the world like he wanted to beat him silly. But Theresa had him around the waist, hauling him back.

"Knock it off, Nalir! It's just Ryden! It's okay!"

"_It is not!"_ He declared imperiously, though obviously inebriated, "I will not stand to watch _anyone_ hurt you let alone treat you like some… some _common_ bar trollop!"

Abruptly Nalir's speech on chivalry cut short as he went absolutely green, slapping a hand over his mouth as his stomach let out a curdling groan. Turning aside, he rushed to the cinder bucket beside the fireplace. Unceremoniously, the poor guy puked his guts out. Theresa stumbled to his side, holding back his hair.

"I'm sorry!" Ryden looked between them helplessly, covering his throbbing cheek, "I'm sorry!"

Theresa flashed him a weak smile, "Its okay, I know you didn't mean anything by it. He understand too. He's just being over-protective."

"Can I help?" He struggled to stand and floundered as the ground tipped.

"No. I've got him." And she did, collecting Nalir up off the floor, slinging his arm over her shoulders, "Just go to bed, Ryden."

"Okay…" Still bewildered, he watched Theresa maneuver the sickly Mardan through the rows of chairs and out into the wee hours.

After a second try of standing, Ryden shook Seran's boot until the Stone Man snorted awake.

"Eh?" He grumbled, blinking down at him blearily, "What's wrong with your face, lad?"

"Just pick me up, okay? We need to go find wherever Peoter passed out before the rest of the Guard wakes up to their Captain arse up in a broom closet."

***

Nalir burst into his room, stumbling free of her support as he went careening through the suite into the adjoining bath.

Very unhappy sounds filtered their way out of the doorway.

And she couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

All the way back from Red Hall all he could mutter was, "I'm sorry… I don't drink…" over and over again. Tyranese scotch was some pretty hard stuff to start with. She'd been in bed all day after doing in a crock of hard cider with Markl one summer solstice. And she gave him a little space, remember how awful it was having Martha _and_ Mrs. Fairfax crammed into the water closet with her.

Although she paused a moment.

Realizing she'd never been in Nalir's room before.

It… It was _clean!_

Not only that, it didn't smell like a gym locker!

And it looked like anything but an apprentice's room.

The furniture was elegantly arranged, dark wood carved into spindly curves, upholstered in purple velvets and rich cushions of burgundy that picked out the ruddy hues in the Mardan weavings on the walls. Books, of which there were many, were shelved neatly on the stacks that lined the walls. Not stacked and pushed in willy-nilly. The titles were mostly in Mardan, although there were many languages she did not recognize. It was strange to see shelves actually used for book, not stuffed to the gills with random bits of paper, dirty laundry, and moldy dishes.

There was an entirely separate nook for magical work. The components neatly bottled in racks, cubbies, and pigeon holds as opposed to spilling in piles onto the floor. And it was well away from the writing desk, so none of the parchment quills or ink were scorched or blistered from fire marks.

Furthermore he had plants. They weren't dead either! _Ferns!_ Whoever heard of a man who could keep ferns! And she couldn't help but smile at the lacy little hands of green uncurling from prettily glazed pots. She recognized some of the colors from the potter's wing of the Palace.

But what really threw her for a loop was the harp propped in the corner.

It kind of made sense, Nalir did have such slender hands. She had no idea he was a musician. The golden instrument gleamed in the grey light of the early dawn, thin and birdish on its tiny clawed feet. It took every ounce of self control not to pluck one of its strings.

Passing his bedroom, she peeked inside, being more than nosy. And she stopped dead in her tracks. The bed was actually made! And the floor visible! Inside here was just as clean and neat as the common spaces. She didn't even bother making her bed! More warm colors here, all of which would have suited his complexion. But he always wore black, black, black! As was evident in the open wardrobe at the foot of his bed. Craning her neck to see inside, not a stitch of color showed.

Then her eyes picked out a small double portrait on the side table.

It took her a second to recognize Merra even though her name was cast into the silver frame. She was smiling. _Actually_ smiling. Young and fresh, her eyes lovingly turned towards the other half of the portrait. But the other side was covered by a black cloth. It was more than rude, but curiosity got the better of her. Lifting the cover, she peered through the dim light at the man who could only be Nalir's father. And her insides stilled. Stars above he was handsome. And Nalir looked just like him; perhaps a little thinner, younger, and not nearly so happy.

Caedir. His father's name was Caedir.

The man in the portrait was looking at Merra the same way she caught Barimus looking at Martha, or Howl looking at Sophie. But it wasn't the same as the way Markl sometimes looked at her sometimes. She couldn't articulate the difference. But she felt its presence keenly.

Suddenly she felt very sorry for Merra.

Understood the bitterness that robbed her face of any happiness.

Here was proof that she'd once been happy.

Only she'd had that happiness taken away.

Anyone would be cold and hateful after that.

Theresa shied from the idea of loosing someone she loved so dearly. Someone who actually loved her back. She'd lost both her parents when she was too young to remember them. So she'd been robbed twice over: lost her entire family and any memory of them that might have let her grieve for them.

Theresa winced as Nalir heaved and gagged in the distance.

Poor thing couldn't have anything left to throw up. Still, he was coughing and choking. Turning away from the portraits, she went to the bathroom threshold and knocked. Poking her head inside, she found Nalir curled up on his side on the bare tile, shivering slightly. His red hair spilled out over the floor, gleaming like blood in the switch light overhead. The bulb hummed softly. Electricity gave her the creeps.

Turning on the faucet, she half filled a glass and snatched a towel off the rack, dampening it before kneeling at his side. He started, looking up at her as if surprised.

"Drink this," She helped him sit up enough to put the glass to his lips.

"I am drunk…" He confessed solemnly.

And her lips twitched before he choked on the water, swallowing weakly, gargling and spitting into the bowl before dropping his forehead against the white tiles. He looked wretchedly ill. The black eye she'd given him was coming along nicely. Yellows and greens starting to show beneath the raspberry purples.

"Yes you are." Theresa mopped at his forehead and neck with the towel. "Drinking with the Reds is a very stupid idea."

"So I'm learning," His lack of bravado was a change for once. And he closed his eyes as she swept the cloth over the back of his neck, "That feels really good."

"It's supposed to."

His eyes cracked open again, peering at her from the corners of his eyes. And her heart squeezed. He looked so utterly pathetic. So completely grateful. Oh, she was _really_ going to let Peoter have it for this one!

"What are you doing up so late?" He croaked, licking his cracked lips. And his fine brows drew up with worry.

"Early." She corrected, "It's nearly dawn."

She danced around his question, not wanting to admit she'd noticed him disappear from the party. Didn't want to tell him she'd listened in on Barimus and Martha after they'd gone home. Didn't want to say aloud that she couldn't sleep knowing where he'd gone. Didn't want him to know she'd stayed up all night waiting for him to get back only to fall asleep in Barimus' closet.

"Really? I didn't realize we were gone so long."

He closed his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line as sorrow seeped through his features, soaking him through, aging him before her eyes.

"Come here." She tugged at his sleeves until he rolled over, putting his face in her lap. And she wrapped her arms around him as bits of hot wet soaked through her trousers.

"It's not fair!" He choked hoarsely, trembling violently, breaking her heart with the power of his misery, "He deserved to live! He held on through all that pain. He was so strong... So very strong… _He_ shouldn't have died! _None_ of them should have!"

"Nalir… Nalir it's not your fault."

_"Yes it is!"_ He bit back morosely, hands closing into fists.

"Look at me! No, you _will_ look at me!" She struggled to turn his face towards hers, smoothing back his tangled red hair, bending her head to find and hold his eyes with her own, "This is _not_ your fault."

Her heart skipped a beat. The bottom of her world dropped out as he stared up at her. Because it was like looking at the face in the painting. All the same depth of feeling showed in his green eyes. Only he was looking at her.

Nalir sat up as his eyes went hungry.

His lovely hands went right into her hair.

Thin lips finding hers.

Soft and warm. But ever so powerful. Gods, the intensity of it melted her into him. And she seized a hold of his shirt. Because she was falling. Her head was spinning giddily as her insides went red hot with wanting. She didn't mind in the slightest that he tasted slightly sour and reeked of scotch. But just as suddenly he tore away. And she uttered a disconsolate sound, reaching after him as he clambered to his feet, hugging himself as he hunched, unsteadily pacing the opposite side of the room.

Theresa climbed to her feet, but still he refused to look at her.

"T-tell me to go away!" He insisted desperately, "Tell me to leave!"

She stared at him helplessly, "B-but this is your room."

"Then tell me you love Markl!" He demanded, clasping the sides of his head, "Tell me it because we thought we were going to die! Tell me it was a fluke! Tell me I'm an arrogant jack-ass whom you cannot stand!"

Theresa stared at him as slowly more and more things were beginning to make sense. "I… I can't."

Going absolutely pale, he looked at her finally. And she watched, overjoyed and then utterly baffled as the hope that glimmered in his eyes shattered on the shadow of something that stole across his face. Bumping into the doorway, Nalir turned and fled into his bedroom. Resolutely she followed, closing the door behind her, waiting patiently as he stormed around, tripping on the carpet, careening into the wardrobe. The poor thing was still quite drunk.

"If you only knew…" He choked, close to tears again, "Then you wouldn't be standing there…"

Finally, Theresa couldn't stand it any longer. She stood right in his path, grabbing onto him, shaking him.

"Tell me, Nalir! Whatever it is, tell me before it _kills_ you!"

Terror and anguish twisting his face into a mask of pain, turning him to a stranger, "You'll hate me! You should hate me."

"No I won't! _Bloody bricks, just tell me!_"

"The airship crash was no accident." Theresa went absolutely still as the words bleed from Nalir as though every one was painful, as though he'd stabbed himself and the truth came flowing from his wound. "Someone planted bombs without magical components so they wouldn't be detected. Then they destroyed the secondary fail safes."

"S-sabotage?" Fury boiled in her chest, "Why didn't they tell me!?"

"They didn't tell me either. I figured it out myself." Nalir suddenly went white as the tiles back in the water closet. "At… At first I thought perhaps it had been my mother's doing."

"W-what!?"Theresa had to sit down after that one, sinking onto the foot of his bed. She stared as him blankly as he continued, explaining in detail.

"I wasn't supposed to be on that airship. Markl was. There was a bomb right at the head of the table where we were sitting. Where _he_ would have been sitting. And if the bomb had gone off it would have killed you both instantly."

"But…" Theresa was still struggling, "But why would Merra…"

"She didn't! At first I though she might have…" He tapered off, too horrified to continue, leaving that thought behind, "She knows something. But she not capable of killing so many innocent people. She can't even kill _spiders_. She _loathes_ spiders! But still she makes me catch them with a glass and carry them out into the garden."

"W-who?" She demanded, "Who then?"

"Yewin."

"No." She refused mulishly, "Not possible! He's a big teddy bear! He gives candy to the apprentices! He's one of the best surgeons we have!"

"I've seen more of him than I care for since he came here from Marda." Nalir's eyes went bitter and distant, "None of you know the Yewin _I_ know."

"I still don't understand why!?" Her head just couldn't fathom what he was proposing. It just didn't have room for such horrors, "People are starving to death! W-why would he _kill_ all those people and… and _destroy_ all that food and medicine!?"

"Collateral damage." The frankness in his curt rebuttal chilled Theresa's heart, "He objective was killing Markl. You were bait to secure his presence."

"But… But he's a Healer!" She shrilled, "We… We take an _oath_, Nalir! An oath to preserve every life within our power to keep! Kindred, countryman, and Magi alike!"

Nalir folded his hands behind his back, offering more of his frigid logic. "He was the one that was being troublesome about the aid shipment, was he not?"

"Y-yes."

"And so the rest of the committee was pressed into offering terms in order to secure his vote." He continued stoically, "Just what were those terms?"

"T-that I accompany the shipment." She forced the words out, because slow realization was creeping over her.

"And what did Martha request as a result?"

"That Markl accompany me with the shipment." She dashed her hands at the tears she suddenly discovered on her cheeks. Because the whole world had suddenly skewed. Becoming darker that the scorched place in the beyond. That evil was contained, held back by the Wall. But it was with them still even after all this time. It had never left the place where it first began: in the hearts of men.

"Who would ever doubt Yewin?" Nalir's icy sarcasm burned her already bruised sensitivities, yanking her back to the present she so desperately wanted to escape. "How could such a gifted healer possibly murder so many in cold blood? I am surprised by how man people have forgotten that Erin Danna was a Green."

"But why!?" She almost shrieked, "You still haven't told me _why!_"

He cringed as though he expected to be struck, "Because of me."

She had no words for that and simply waited. Waited for him to explain, waited desperately to trying and understand.

"Remember what I told you in the herb closet? Barimus doesn't want me as his apprentice. He wants Markl to be the next Royal Sorcerer. But if Markl does then he'll have no other choice then but to pick me." Nalir's emptied of anything but quiet rage. "Who was the one that pushed me as the most likely heir? Who was it that made a deal with King Ferdinand _without_ Barimus' consent to force me into that position?"

"_Monstrous!"_ Theresa breathed in consternation.

"At first I thought my mother hated Ingary. I even thought that I hated Ingary. But we don't. Neither of us does. But, Yewin? Yewin _despises_ Ingary." Nalir's eyes going across the room to the portraits beside his bed. And she had a feeling he wasn't looking at his mother. "You may think that after twelve years the Ingarian War would be forgotten. But it hasn't been forgotten. Not in Marda. Not in Yewin. You will be surprised man and magi's inability to part with their _hatred_ and their _stupid_ love of war."

"Have you told Barimus or Howl!?"

He looked away diffidently. "No…"

Then she did hit him. Standing up she slapped him right across the face, grabbing him by the front of his tunic so she could shake him silly, _"Why!? Why haven't you told them?!" _

Anger flared on his face as a red mark spread across his cheek, but he let her shake him until her knees buckled. She knocked into him, sobbing quietly. Although as he tried to gather her against him, she fought him off, sinking to her knees on the rug. He followed, crouching in front of her.

"Listen to me, Theresa! There's nothing I would like more than to go to my masters and tell them everything. But there's more to this." His soft voice urgently persistent, pulling her attention back to his wan features, "They know something that could doom Master Barimus!"

Instantly he had her attention. And as he licked his chapped lips the rubies at his ears glimmered softly, his eyes going luminous in the early light. He was casting magic.

She felt a fey prickle dance up her arms.

Strange.

She'd never once felt magic before.

"I'm strengthening the scry-wards. Just in case. The only reason I'm telling you any of this is because I've spent almost every shred of my spare magic scry-warding this room." His brilliant eyes returned to her, holding them as hers had his earlier, "Years ago I overhead something that should not have been heard. In a fit of stupidity I told my mother and undoubtedly she told Yewin. They have horded that secret preciously, a bargaining chip to be played in their advantage should anything like this ever require that it be played. If I tell you do you swear to keep it secret?"

"I… I think I already know."

He came up short, blinking rapidly, "W-what?"

"I was in the room when Markl found out. Only Barimus, Howl, Markl and I know." She dropped her gaze, picking at a red triangle in the pile of the rug, "We know that Barimus lied to King Ferdinand. Lied and told him he'd already made Markl his apprentice before the agreement with Merra was struck."

If it possible, Nalir thinned with worry, going practically transparent with the weight of it, "To lie to your King is High Treason. Do you know what the penalty for that is?"

Theresa went perfectly still. Because she did.

"King Ferdinand would never sentence Barimus to death! He loves Barimus! He trusts him implicitly! He'd forgive and pardon him instantly!"

"Yes… King Ferdinand would. But then Master Barimus would have to stand before the Tri-Council. I can tell you for a fact that Yewin's influence is strong among the Magi. They have no hope of touching the Kindred. But their strength can easily extend to persuade County folk."

Theresa stared at him.

Frozen.

Absolutely frozen with terror.

Because Barimus' life was at stake in the tangled madness that stretched before her like an endless thicket of brambles. Tears stung her eyes again, but she blinked them back, trying to still her insides to a calm, trying to think. But that was proving harder than she imagined. Looking up from the rug, she found Nalir's eyes equally fraught. She'd never realized how much he loved his Master. But there it was, written all over his face.

"What are we going to do?"

He looked away, hardening with concentration as he sat back on his heels and wobbled slightly, putting a hand out to still himself. Goodness. If this was him inebriated, honestly, she'd never really considered just how smart Nalir actually was.

"We have the upper hand at the moment. We know many things that Yewin does not. And if we act carefully we can avoid giving Yewin the chance to call Master Barimus out at trial. Howl will no doubt pick apart the unexploded bomb and only the Stars know just what he'll find." Nalir caught up her hands, staring into her face with grim intensity, "You _must_ keep this secret, Theresa. You cannot tell anyone. Only when we figure out what to do next can we even _consider_ who to tell."

Theresa couldn't miss the fact that he kept saying _we_. It stoked a fire in her chest. Because unlike everyone else, he had enough faith and trust in her to tell her the truth. And she held onto his hands.

"How… How'd you figure all this out!?"

"I… I don't know… It just pops into my head." His chin dropped, tangled hair invading his face. Hiding him as his hands trembled slightly, tightening on hers, "D-do you hate me? Now that you know?"

How to even begin dissuading him of that idea was beyond her.

Theresa had her fill of words for one sitting

So she yanked him to her, bruising her mouth against his.

And she could help but grin as he went absolutely stock still. She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek in surprise. Although she kept her lips working, rewarded as his hands ran round her waist, knotting in the small of her back, pulling her towards him. Bending her like a bow. Until she became the perfect curve to fit against his chest. Then they toppled back onto the carpet, the weight of his body crushing her deliciously as she tucked up her knees, feeling the fit of him between her thighs. She scratched at his back, kissing him fiercely, until he broke free, his long beautiful hair pooling to either side of her face.

"May I at least brush my teeth? This cannot be pleasant for you." He frowned so very seriously it was difficult not to snort. He acted as though it were the most important act in the world,

"Shut up and kiss me, Nalir!"

He kissed her.

Kissed her until she saw stars.


	5. Chapter 5

With a groan Ryden eased into one of the overstuffed chairs lining the Royal Palace halls. Oh, his head was killing him! Every noise and movement made his insides slosh queasily.

He could only imagine what Nalir was going through.

The reedy Guard paused from his personal agony to watch the parade of decorations trundling through the halls. King Ferdinand especially loved the Winter Solstice celebration. The bristle-bearded monarch made the event an international sensation.

One day en-counting to the Ball.

The panic in the servant corridors was absolutely palpable.

Never mind the fact that nearly a hundred people had lost their lives recently on the slopes of Mount Chimney. And Ryden was finding it difficult to be of good cheer after spending all night with Theodrick's family.

The memorial service was set for the morning of the Ball.

A chance to give visiting dignitaries a chance to pay their respects.

Anyone who was anyone in the Tri-Countries would already been enroot for the Ball. So King Justin and King Walden would definitely be at the memorial. _Three_ kings! One was more than enough, which meant the Red Guard would be on double duty. Especially after the Chimney Mountain incident.

That's what they were calling it.

An _incident_.

Not a crash or an accident.

Nothing to imply that there had been any responsibility.

At least not yet.

No word from Peoter about the Wallmaker's work on the unexploded bomb. But then again his Captain had only just prodded him awake where he lay on the rug beside his bunk, wordlessly handing him a to-do list nearly a mile long. Fine thanks that was for retrieving him from the broom closet next to his office where he was, indeed, arse-up and snoring.

Ryden knew his teacher all too well.

It wasn't the first time they'd ended up at the bottom of a bottle together.

Never mind that no one could be spared because of the Ball preparations. Because Ryden had Nalir. The thin Magi had offered last night to coordinate the memorial, which made perfect sense. He could get things done quicker and more efficiently than any of the Committee Councilors. And none of the Red Guard knew anything about properly setting up such a delicate ceremony.

He only hoped Nalir wasn't too damaged.

Although his throbbing right cheek hoped to at least find him curled up in a miserable ball in the bottom of the bath tub. By tomorrow they would both be sporting matching black eyes.

Rising gingerly, the wizard guard shuffled along the hallway, winding his way through to the east tower where Nalir's apartment was located. Most of the rooms here were used for storage, so the harried courtiers and panicked servants thinned, becoming almost non-existent. It was a little lonely. The furniture in the hallways were covered in sheets to keep the dust at bay. Strike that. Spooky was a more apt description. But the skinny Mardan once confided he preferred this to the West Tower where Markl suite was located. It was quiet here, Nalir amended. Easier to think. Looking at the list, Ryden heart sank. He didn't care where Nalir stowed his boots so long as he could make a miracle happen by tomorrow morning.

Without so much as knocking, the red shirt let himself in. Sulking only slightly as he found the bathroom empty. Tormenting Nalir had become one of Ryden's favorite pastimes. It was one of the only ways to crack through that carefully constructed exterior of his. And the stuffy little sorcerer _hated_ it when he came in unannounced.

"Waky-waky, Nally-kins!" He stomped his way through the living room and burst into the bedroom, "Welcome to your first hang-over!"

Nalir jolted bolt upright in the bed.

Although he wasn't alone.

On any other day Ryden would have tactfully withdrawn and given him hell at a later time. Stars only knew that many of the Red thought he was gay. Or maybe celibate. They never once saw him chatting up the hordes of courtly men or women that circled like buzzards the Tri-Council meetings he attended. The ladies and certain lords certainly looked. But Nalir never seemed to see them. Normally Ryden would have cheered to the rafters to know he'd finally gotten a something into his bed.

If that person turned out to be anyone but Theresa.

She let out a strangled squeak, yanking the sheets over her bare chest, which, incidentally, was covered in freckles like the rest of her. Oh, that was an image he was going to have to _burn_ from his memory. She went as red as her hair as she stared wordless and wide eyed with shock. Although Nalir was anything but frozen. His face drained of all color as absolute fury turned his green eyes incandescent. The privacy curtain fell, concealing Theresa as he stabbed out a finger, directing the way Ryden had come in.

"_OUT!" _Nalir thundered.

He retreated to the antechamber as the door slammed behind him.

Didn't make it far. Sitting on the couch.

It was that or the rug.

"Oh, shit." He breathed as his mind went blank. _"Shit, shit, shit!"_

Raised voices filtered under the door from the next room. Hers angry and slightly shrill. His calm and cool. Logical. Rational. By the Wall, Ryden wouldn't be _that_ calm if he were in his friend's shoes. And after a moment they went silent as the door to the bedroom clicked open. Turning, Ryden stared mutely as Nalir came around the couch. The bastard almost flowed. Sitting perfectly poised in the chair across from him. Straight backed, hands folded, face utterly serene. And his hair might be smooth as silk, but he was barefoot and the ties of his shirt were all mis-done.

"How long's this been going on?

"I don't see how that's any of your concern." He waved dismissively.

"_Like hell it's not!" _He shot back furiously, surprised by the anger boiling up inside his already agitated gut, "Markl's my friend! Markl's _your_ friend! Do you have any idea how serious this is?

A crack formed in Nalir's perfect exterior and his eyes were anything but serene. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Lines etched his face. Betraying the torment that lay just beneath the surface as he looked at the floor. The pissed off rant Ryden had planned to fling at his friend suddenly dried up. Because it was very evident that there was nothing he could say or do to make Nalir feel any worse. The door behind them clicked again, and the Mardan was on his feet. Glaring at Theresa indignantly as she came around the couch, glaring right back at him. You could have lit a fire with the tension crackling between them.

"I told you to wait until we'd…" He sputtered.

"What!?" Her hands went right to her hips as she blew a curl from her face, "So you two could work out a deal like rational men? Fat chance of talk ever getting through to _him_!" Theresa pointed a finger right in Ryden's face; making him flinch back into the cushions as she rounded on him, grabbed the front of his shirt, waving a clenched fist under his nose. "This is my decision, got that!? Don't you _dare_ think I would let anyone take advantage of me! And of you tell _anyone_ about this before we make a formal announcement, _so help me Ryden_, you won't be able to _eat_ or _drink_ a thing for the rest of your life for fear of what might be in your soup. _Got it!?"_

"_Y-yes, ma'am!"_ He stammered.

Great black bricks she was terrifying!

"Good." She let him go. Straightening her apron as she battled with her curls. And Nalir flinched as she turned back to him. "Will I see you later?"

"I… I don't know." Never had Ryden seen Nalir look so very lost. Not since his mother ended up in the Healer's Wing back during the Daemon War, "We have to bring things together for Theodrick and the Memorial... The whole palace is mad with the plans for the Ball tomorrow night and who knows what Master Barimus will need sorting out."

And slowly her eyes softened as they lingered on him. It was like watching Martha cool off when Barimus came into the Council Hall.

"Try and eat something, okay?"

He greened a little bit, "I'm not sure if I can."

"I'll send some up tea. You _will_ drink it."

His thin lips quirked, "Only if you put honey in it."

Ryden wilted as he witnessed their repartee.

Just listen to them!

This was no birthday roll in the hay.

This was _way_ serious.

Turning at little red in the cheeks, Theresa leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Just a quick peck before squaring her shoulders and marching right out into the hall. But Nalir's eyes never left her. Not even after the door to his apartment closed.

_"Shit, shit, shit!"_ It was all Ryden could say for a while, bending his head forward into his hands as his insides spun dizzily.

"Quite." Nalir pronounced vaguely.

"_Grrr!_" Ryden growled in utter frustration, tossing out his hands as he threw himself back into the couch, "Markl doesn't have a _fucking_ clue, does he?"

"No… None at all." And it was Nalir was talking now. Not that distant façade he put on for business. The pain was back in his face as he was worried with the tassels on the end of his shirt ties. Chewing his bottom lip bloody as his brow twisted above his troubled distant eyes.

"I wasn't going to tell him. The first time was when we were buried in the snow. Honestly, I though it was because she thought she was going to die. I thought I was going to die! I thought she would come back here and see Markl and… And _bells_ would sound and _birds_ would sing, and… And that would be it! It was supposed to just be that one time. But it wasn't…"

"Markl's gonna kill you, man!"

"I know! _I know!_" He was on his feet, circling the chair, shoulders stoop, one hand clenched behind his back and the other waving madly, "Master Barimus will probably cast me out, as is his right! And I have _no_ idea what the Wallmaker will say! Or do! Howl and Lady Sophie already count Theresa as family."

"You could call it quits…" Ryden blurted in a panic, "You could just keep it secret and pretend like it never happened."

"I _love_ her Ryden!" He cried aloud, gripping the back of the chair as he bent under the force of his suffering. Sounded so very helpless. So completely un-Nalir, "I… I think I've always loved her… All the way back to when she chased me with that stupid garden hoe! But… But I also love Markl! He's like my brother! Both of you! And this will kill him… Oh, gods… _What have I done!?"_

Ryden stared at his friend as he collapsed onto the chair.

Face buried in his hands.

Completely at a loss. The both of them.

"What're you gonna do?"

"Nothing… At least until Theresa and I figure out what to do next…" Weakly, looking like he might pass out, Nalir reached out one of his delicate hands, "Now give me that list. We have work to do."

***

"That went really well." Markl pulled at the high collar of the somber black robes. "I'd say almost better than Suliman's memorial. I don't remember much about it beside the fact that I fell asleep in Sophie's lap."

He'd borrowed from Ryden for the memorial ceremony. He was the only one tall enough to lend him anything. But Ryden didn't need his blacks right now. The Guard was decked out in their finest uniforms. Paying tribute to their fallen brother.

All of them.

A sea of red stood behind the altar.

Saluting in perpetuity.

"I disagree," Nalir contradicted absently. "Sorceress Suliman's memorial was grander by far."

Looking out from the second story balcony that circled the great open hall, the Wallmaker's son found it hard to find any fault in what Nalir had patched together in a single day. The services had finished. The huge dome was brimming with the muted roar of roar of thousands of whispering voices. And the crowds were filing by the memorial set up on the altar of the Royal Cathedral.

Gold framed pictures of the dead crew were arranged in long rows.

Wreathed with beautiful black and purple swags.

Piles a flowers, mementos, and candles drowned the feet of the stands.

Left by family and friends.

At sunset all would be put on the pyre waiting outside.

Sent with prayers into the beyond.

"I wish I could have found more flowers," He muttered critically. A muscle was jumping at the back of his clenched jaw. His distant eyes glittered, bright with pain, "There were more flowers at Tirut's memorial. Dieter and Cyanine's too. But it was summer time… It's so hard to find flowers in winter…"

There were a lot of funerals to attend at the end of the Daemon War.

They just weren't something you got used to.

And Markl stared at his friend.

Nalir was as polished as ever in his fine black robes. Not a hair out of place on his head. Every word that came out of his mouth during the ceremony was calm and controlled, perfectly appropriate. Markl wished he could speak so eloquently. But he saw something in his apprentice brother the visitors did not. And he followed him here after the end of the ceremony. But Nalir didn't chew him out for chasing after him, nor did he tell him to piss off. If anything he seemed slightly relieved. Glad to have some company. Because out of the public eye Nalir look like he was about ready to fall apart.

He'd taken Theodrick's death really hard.

He probably wasn't eating either; hence he looked bonier than usual. Although he couldn't fault his lack of appetite after hearing from Ryden about his bender with a bottle of Tyranese 20 year. Hence the black eye the Guard was sporting. The pair of them actually matched for once. It was kind of cute.

"Um… Nalir? I guess what I'm trying to say is good job. Didn't you hear Walden and Justin compliment Ferdinand on the ceremony? Not often you get a good job from three Kings at once."

He was trying to make his apprentice feel better.

But if anything his praise seemed to have the opposite effect.

Nalir cringed, bowing his head as he gripped the balcony railing.

Bending as if struck by a sudden pain.

"Markl… I… I need to tell you something."

"By the Wall, man! You sure you're okay?" The Wallmaker's son bowled right past his friend's admission, concerned by how white his face had gone, "You look like you're ready to keel over. Want me to get Theresa?"

He straightened abruptly.

And that stupid mask of propriety slapped over his face.

"No! No… I'm fine. Just tired." Nalir waved off his concern with a brittle laugh that sounded completely fake. "M-magic is coming to me slowly. I'm still a little drained. But at least my mind speech came back. I was a little worried for a while."

"Yeah, I bet you were." Markl flashed a worried smile, still not completely convinced, "But what did you want to tell me?"

"Thank you…" He blurted out, "For bringing me to the party yesterday."

"No problem. We were sad you left so soon. Especially the girls. They are way sweet on you, by the way. Lily cried when she found out you left."

"Sorry…" His green eyes went back out to the crowds and suddenly he was miles away, "I had to work."

Markl was quiet for a long moment.

Trying to think of some way to ease his friend's suffering.

"Barimus was really impressed with you too, by the way. He said so himself. Martha's been raving about you for years. But I think Uncle's finally catching on. I mean, even Theresa got your back now. You should'a heard her chew out this courtier who was bad-mouthing you this morning."

"_Please, Markl…"_ Nalir choked hoarsely, gripping the railing as though his life depended on it. _"Please stop."_

Again Markl stared.

Black bricks! Why was he making this so _bloody_ hard!?

"You know I don't get you, sometimes!" He started up angrily, "What's so damned important about being prim and proper, anyway? I think it's better to just say things plainly. Call a spade a spade instead of all this fancy talk where you say one thing and mean another. Is that so hard!?"

With that he stormed away, leaving Nalir to wallow in whatever funk suited his mood at the present. Nearly colliding with Healer Yewin as he came up the stairs.

"Whoa, my boy!" The grizzle bearded man beamed up at him cordially. "Goodness, you're getting tall! And where are you off to in such a rush?"

"My apprentice brother needs his head examined," Markl frowned sourly as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, "You're a healer. Maybe you can talk some sense into him!"

"Nalir?" Yewin's green eyes sharpened as they went down the hall.

"Yeah," Markl waved vaguely, "He's sulking in the curtains at the end."

"Happy Solstice." The jolly fellow clapped his shoulder as he passed.

***

Nalir's heart was beating a million miles a minute as Markl stormed away.

So close. So very, _very_ close.

Silently he damned himself for his weakness.

Damned himself for wasting a perfect opportunity.

But he couldn't. Couldn't do it.

Couldn't hurt Markl.

Couldn't bare the idea of loosing his friend.

And his heart skipped a beat as someone fumbled with the curtains.

"I'm sorry, Markl…" He drew them back to let his brother through.

But his brother wasn't there.

Nalir stumbled back as Yewin pulled the drapes closed behind him. He was wearing his Father Winter mask. Round cheeks pinked from smiling. But mirth never went beyond his guise. His eyes were cold. Utterly empty. Like a snake's.

"Ah! There you are! I've been looking for you, young man."

Oh, gods…

Nalir wasn't ready for this yet.

Wasn't prepared.

Instantly his mask was in place. Like a shield that he held between them. Because the game was on between them. And he made his first move, bowing his most urbane of bows, speaking with golden admiration although his stomach had gone sick at the sight of the man.

"Greetings, Healer Yewin. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing for me, dear boy. I come on your mother's behalf."

Nalir's insides went stone cold and still at the mention of his mother. Because there was no love between Yewin and Merra in spite of the time they spent in each other's company. It was one of the reasons he had fled his mother's house. He couldn't stand hearing them shout at each other anymore.

Yewin clasped his hands before him, leveling at him gently disapproving frown. "Merra is _sick_ with worry for you, young man."

"Mother need not worry about me." He held out his hands, standing straight and tall, "As you see, and no doubt as she _sees_, I am quite well."

His emphasis did not go unmissed. Making it clear that his mother was no doubt scrying them at this very moment. Watching every glimpse of him she could catch in her amethyst bowl. It was a subtle warning he hoped would not go unheeded.

"Ah, but therein lies the trouble, Nalir, my boy. Since your return your mother cannot _see_ you… And neither can I."

It took every shred of self control not to let his mask slip at that revelation.

Yewin could scry!?

The time table in Nalir's head flicked back to how many times the fat man had held private audience with Merra over the years. Recalled how tired Yewin appeared upon leaving. As if he'd been lifting accounting records for hours. But then again, scrying was absolutely exhausting. Especially for the novice. He'd always wondered what they were shouting about. And thanks to the muffling charms not a word of it was legible. Apparently Yewin was no patient pupil.

But why!? Why would she do such a thing? Why would she throw away the one check she could hold over him?!

Mother, what have you done?!

As he scrambled to understand why the fat man had just revealed a secret strength, Yewin turned away, pacing along the balcony, continuing to talk.

"I've been troubled by this situation since you returned to us. Worried for your condition, I tried to look in on you several times since reviving you. Only to discover that you cannot be found. And I must confess that your mother has experienced the same difficulty. How extraordinary, don't you think? That Merra. The Water Witch. The Sorceress responsible for finding Erin Danna herself. Cannot find you."

"Utterly baffling, sir." Nalir feigned rapt attention, trying not to cringe as the man turned to face him far quicker than his bulk suggested.

"I've been watching you very closely these past few years, my boy. Overjoyed by your prodigious mental abilities. But I always had the feeling you were unfinished somehow."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir?"

"Did you know that Merra never once stepped foot in the academy? Her magic didn't even reveal itself fully until she was 19 years of age. How old are you, Nalir?"

"Nineteen, sir." He answered obediently.

What in the name of the Wall was he getting at!? In spite of the impatience grinding away at his gut, Nalir waited.

Keep talking, you bastard, he urged silently.

Tell me something I don't know.

"That's right!" Yewin struck his fist into his palm in the way old men do when they've remembered something, "Happy Birthday, dear boy! A day late, I'm afraid, but salutations none-the-less."

Although here his face fell. And tears actually glistening in his eyes!

Oh, but he was good. So very genuine.

No wonder people loved him.

Although Nalir's skin crawled beneath his sleeve as Yewin put a consoling hand on his arm. "I am sorry about the loss of your friend Theodrick."

All at once his insides were seething like cold acid.

Theodrick?!

What did Theodrick have to do with any of this?!

Something must have spilled on his face, because at once Yewin's hand tightened on his arm, fingers digging into his thin wrist. In another too quick movement, the Healer Mage tore off his round spectacles, peering at him intently. As though preparing to offer a medical diagnosis. But a strange tension was gathering behind them. Much like the approach of a mindspeak message. But Yewin did not mind speak. It intensified as Yewin's magic prodded at him. Nalir bristled at the invasion, recoiling, trying to take back his arm. But the fat man's grip was like steel. And he was smiling again. Knowingly. Eyes glittering dangerously.

Oh, if only he could crack open that face.

What atrocities would spill out onto the floor?

The tension built beneath the strength of Nalir's hate.

Something snapped inside him like a humming bow string.

But instead of an arrow he flew forward through the point of contact.

Right into the midst of Yewin's mind.

The old man let out a strangled cry that matched Nalir's. Together they fell to their knees. Horror spread through the young wizard's insides at what he saw in the Healer's head. He saw a great many things at once. Overlapping memories and impressions. Old and new. Some even further still. They flooded him. Overwhelmed him utterly. Until he snatched one out of the cacophony. And his hands came back bloody.

"_You killed him…"_ Nalir gasped, _"You killed Theodrick!"_

Yewin had him by the side of his face, shaking him as a grimace of triumph lit up his round face. And his mask fell away. Revealing zealousness that bordered on the insane.

"I always knew you were too smart, _you little bastard_." Bits of spittle flew from his lips as Yewin shook Nalir's head, making his insides turn liquid with agony. "You _knew_ things you shouldn't. I hoped Caedir's blood ran stronger in your veins then Merra's. She never told you about your father's TrueSight, did she? But that's not all, is there? Oh, no… I always wondered why Tirut took such interest in you. Scrying was never that senile old fart's forte. So why would a master of farsight take interest in you!?" The healer's face twisted with sadistic glee, catching him into a bear hug from behind, squeezing him fiercely. "Look deep, boy! What else do you see? Tell me! _Tell me!_"

Nalir choked as the cough burned deep inside his chest, rendering him helpless as pain swallowed any magic he might have summoned to defend himself.

"I can't breathe!" Nalir gasped.

Because his lungs were empty! On fire!

He struggled weakly as the flickers and shapes rained down on him like star fire, bending his mind beneath the weight of knowing. Black and white sparkles slowly dissolved his vision as a stream of hot came flowing from his nose. Although he wasn't so far gone that he didn't feel the horrid wet whisper Yewin poured into his ear.

"Remember, _boy_." His rough palm swept Nalir's head back until the bristles of his beard clawed at Nalir's cheek, "You are mine. Cross me and _everything_ you love with wither and die."

With that the fat man dropped him, leaving him lost in agony. Standing and straightening his green velvet doublet. Smoothing his hair as a cheery smile set his cheeks round and rosy once again. Like holly berries. And he turned away, pushing between the curtains with a light-hearted wave.

"See you at the party, my boy!"

***

Markl plopped down beside her.

Making the whole bench jostle.

It was mostly empty. They were tucked into a back corner watching the last of the visitors straggle through. But the birdish little old lady at the very end of the pew suddenly jolted bolt upright, blinking drowsily. And Theresa only barely managed to restrain herself from smacking him.

They sat in silence.

Watching the Three Kings, the Royal Sorcerer, and the Wallmaker.

Bearing witness to the grief of the dead crew's families.

Sophie had taken Martha back to the Palace. The Herbalist could cry without making a sound. It taken Theresa a moment to realize her mistress had broken down beneath her veil. And she'd been standing right next to her. It was one of the only good thing about the black curtains Ingarian women felt compelled to throw over their heads the moment they went into mourning. At least you go a bit of privacy to indulge in a few unseen tears.

Then he let out a long ragged sigh, slouching low on the bench.

Had she been a porcupine Theresa's quills would have stood straight out.

"You awake under there?" Markl plucked at the bottom of her veil, trying to peek beneath. And she slapped his hands away.

_"Ow!"_

"Serves you right. Now sit up and stop picking holes in Ryden's tunic."

"_Tch…_" He frowned sulkily, looking back out over the crowds, "You're starting to sound like Nalir."

Suddenly Theresa was very, very glad for the veil.

She wasn't quite sure what her face had just done.

Scrubbing his face Markl slouched low in the pew, scowling at the distant balconies where Nalir had disappeared. Theresa's stomach had twisted up into a rock solid knot of stone cold fear as she'd watched them go. Hoping. Praying that Nalir wouldn't be tempted. Would keep his mouth shut for just a little while longer.

Until they could figure this out.

Until they knew for sure.

"Some day, huh, Tee-Tee?"

She cringed as Markl used the baby-name Lily'd given her. It poked a warm hole in her heart through which all kinds of conflicted feelings came gushing.

And here was another plus to the veil.

She could openly spy on people without them knowing. So she stared brazenly. Forcing herself to swallow the hot pinch of despair closing her throat and pricking her eyes. But she wasn't as good as Martha. There was no way she could cry under here without someone noticing. Probably not Markl. He wasn't very perceptive sometimes.

What was Markl?

A sweet heart. Plain and simple.

And she loved him. Loved him so very, _very_ much, even though sometime she wanted to shake him sometimes! They'd been friends for so long, been through so much together. And she'd been love-sick on him for _so_ long! He was a great guy. Hard working. Devoted. Kind. Great with kids. The checklist went on and on! And now that things were _finally_ starting to happen, that _stupid_ smoldering ember in her chest that used to flicker at the sight of him suddenly petered out into a thin trail of smoke.

_What is wrong with me!?_ Theresa fumed in despair.

But it did flair and flicker. Sending heat creeping up into her cheeks as she remembered the whisper of Nalir's lips against her bare skin. Remembered the words he'd spoken aloud.

Just for her.

For some reason she remembered the muck boots Markl'd given her for her birthday. They were excellent boots. Exactly what she needed. But for some reason she couldn't understand she felt somewhat let down by the gift. It was stupid, petty, and completely ungrateful. All the same, the feeling remained. And her thoughts strayed to the waxed paper envelope Martha's given her just before the ceremony, amending it with several apologies. Her mistress had forgotten to give it to her the previous evening. And she turned the contents out into her palm and stared.

Sunflower seeds.

The hills of Marda abounded with them in the summer time.

It was one of the only memories she had of her original home.

A sea of golden sunflowers.

And her heart swelled with an all too familiar feeling.

Until she was drowning in it.

Lost.

Because she didn't know! _Didn't know!_

Markl yanked her back to the present as he let out another gusty sigh. Oblivious to her turmoil as he prattled on like a great bit baby, still picking at the bit of trim.

"You know, I don't get that guy, sometimes... You'd think with that ego of his he'd learn to take a compliment. Why does he have to get all _uppity_ anytime anyone says anything nice to him!?"

He was picking again. And the stitching on Ryden's tunic was fraying now. Soon he'd tear it clear off.

"People with low self-esteem do that, Markl. She pronounced carefully, restraining herself from making him sit on his hands like she'd seen Nalir require of younger apprentices. "They don't know what to do when people are nice to them."

"Nalir!?" He snorted, "You need to get your eyes checked because I've never seen someone so stuffed full of themselves."

She punched him.

Hard.

Right in the meaty part of the shoulder.

The response was becoming strangely involuntary any time someone spoke ill of Nalir.

_"Ow!"_ he cringed away, rubbing his arm, "Damnnit, _that hurt!"_

Ripping up the edge of the veil, she glowered at him, barely containing her voice below a whisper, "Just remember that three days ago he was dead. Got that, Markl!? _Dead! _How's that for perspective!?"

He glared back but held his tongue.

Theresa slouched low into the bench, crossing her arms as she tucked up her knees. Gods above, she was _roasting_ under the stupid petticoat she'd been forced to wear for the ceremony. She didn't have any black pants. Stars forbid that she wear _men's_ pants. So it was skirts or death. Although it wasn't all bad. She was taking the experience as a practice run for later that evening.

She'd gotten a dress for the ball.

Her _first_ dress.

She'd always worn dress greens to the previous parties.

Lettie'd helped her pick it out, forbidding Martha or Sophie to attend.

Both her sisters were more than a little prim in their garb and the caterer insisted she get a _real_ gown. Complete with a low neck, a narrow waist, and gobs of skirt! They'd tramped all over Kingsbury looking for it. The blonde had squealed aloud when she came out of the dressing room with ever inch of chilly her exposed skin flame red to match her hair. By the stars, she felt naked in the thing! But the dress was actually easy.

Next came the real torture.

Shoes.

Although her thought tore away from the terror of high heels as Markl reached up to pull on his earring, his brown eyes going far away with concern.

"Is he okay? You know… Like really okay?"

It was Theresa's turn to sigh, softly, sadly, as she chewed on a curl.

"I think he's going through a really hard case of survivor's guilt."

"What's that?" Markl was frowning at her blankly.

And once again she curbed the childish urge to smack him. _Gods_, he was so _naive_ sometimes! But that's what happens when you locked someone up in a Moving Castle with nothing but books and daemons for half their life! You produced amazing magi that were complete social idiots!

Taking a deep breath she explained, "That's when you feel bad for living when everybody else didn't."

"Oh…" She watched that considering look come plodding like an old mule through the stubborn fallows of his mind. "I hadn't thought of that."

"So cut him some slack, okay?"

"Yeah…" He was back to picking at the piece of braiding, "Hopefully Yewin'll help."

Her brain emptied of anything but stupid.

And it took her a second to remember how to speak.

"W-what?"

Markl waved absently at the balconies, "Ran into him on the way down the stairs. Sent him after Nalir. Figured talking to another Mardan might help."

But Theresa wasn't listening anymore.

She didn't see the hot flush flood Markl's cheeks.

Didn't feel his sweaty hand drop onto hers as his voice changed.

Going softer and twice as awkward.

"So… You wanna go for a walk or something? I've… uh… been meaning to talk to you about something important."

Standing up, she hiked her wretched skirts and jumped over Markl's long legs. Running the back length of the Cathedral. Heading for the stairs. Plunging through the doorway into the dark winding flight, she tripped on the full petticoats, sprawling hard on the stone steps.

_Bloody, bloody, skirts! _

Up she clambered on hands and feet. Somewhere along the way her hat and veil went missing. But she didn't care, a tight anxiousness was squeezing inside her chest. And she followed it like a compass needle along the empty balustrades, kicking and tearing at the velvet curtains in a back niche.

Theresa didn't bother to call out.

She already knew he was there.

Half propped against the white marble pillar, pale enough to match. He could have been one of the sculptures in the grooves above him. But stone didn't bleed. And red was already drying on his upper lip.

His green eyes were staring.

Miles and miles away.

Terror poured out of her, melting her knees as she sat down hard beside him. She'd seen something very similar during the bombings. During both of the Wars. Shell shocked. And she reached for him, hesitating as he cringed back, staring at her like a stranger. Recognition came slowly as he blinked, lifting hands to his temples as agony twisted his brow.

"Yewin killed Theodrick…"

Again her head emptied of words, although Nalir stymied whatever might have come as bald horror wiped his face clean of any pain.

"Poison… He's _poisoning_ my mother…"

"Nalir?" Again she reached for him, desperate to do something, anything.

"_Don't touch me!"_ He hissed as a cough uncurled through his teeth, folding his thin shoulders inward.

His admonishment stung. But she forgave him for it, wordlessly holding out a handkerchief until he took it with shaking hands, pressing it to his bloody nose. She squeaked, shrinking from the hiss of the curtain hooks as Ryden yanked back the drapes. He had the start of a glorious black eye.

Funny that. Apparently Nalir was left handed.

Just like her.

"_Go away!"_ Nalir choked, hiding his face in the bloodied square of linen as he waved a hand without direction.

Ryden promptly ignored him, turning to her instead.

"You jumped up like something bit you then Markl went storming off. Figured whatever'd set you two at odds couldn't've been good." And his dun colored eyes went dark with worry as turned to Nalir. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"I don't know." She hiked up her skirts, tucking them into the waistband, "Help me get him up, will you?"

"_Both of you, just leave me be!"_ The skinny wizard snarled into her hankie.

Theresa's hands went right to her hips as she towered over him, anger going to war with the tight concern pinching her chest. "You're an _idiot_ if you think you can order me around. Get his other arm, Ryden."

Between the two of them he didn't weigh much. And the Mardan became surprisingly compliant as his feet left the ground.

"Not that way," Nalir objected hoarsely as they tried to turn a corner. , "Down the hall to the right... Out the back… Don't want to make a scene…"

Silently they followed his directions, stunned by his memory of the Cathedral's back halls. They didn't encounter a single person along the way all the way to the back of the rectory where the gardens spilled out into the snow covered laws at the back of the Palace.

"Are we going to the Healer's Wing?" Ryden queried as they stopped in the glass solar, staring out into the shifting snow. The skies were dark with low clouds.

_"No!"_ Nalir choked, struggling with vigor beyond his current state.

"Calm down, you goose!" Theresa looked over the top of his head as he sagged, frowning at Ryden, "Back to his room. No arguments."

"Put me down." Nalir commanded.

"W-what?" She came up short as his weight dissolve from her shoulder.

"It's a long way back to the East Tower," Ryden's brows were up in his hairline, "Sure you can make it?"

"I assure you I can make the journey." He shot back harshly, "I do not desire to be seen dragged by the elbows like a drunkard. _Now let go of me!_"

He tore out of their grip, straightening his robes before pushing out into the snow. With a sinking heart Theresa watched him go in more ways than one.

This was the side of Nalir the rest of the world saw.

Rude. Impatient. Overconfident.

Not at all the gentleman who emerged behind closed doors and made her laugh with his sharp wit. Not the fellow who listened to her like no one else. Not the man who'd stoke a fire in her chest unlike anything she'd ever felt.

But they were two sides of the same coin.

And she couldn't choose which to keep.

Only someone who knew him would notice the change in his posture, the tightness in his shoulders, and the dip of his head. The curtain of his red hair hid the agony in his green eyes.

But she saw.

And they followed him single file like a pair of anxious ducks.

Nalir did make it all the way back to the tower.

Although as he turned the corner into the empty hall leading to his apartment he folded like a house of cards. They scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way. Theresa struggled with the latch only to find it locked, shoving Nalir at Ryden as she rifled through his pockets.

"W-what're you doing?" The Red shirt went red in the cheeks.

"Lookin' for keys, what does it look like I'm doing!?"

"Magi don't use keys."

"Huh?" She blew a tight curl out of her eyes, staring at him perplexed.

"Stick his hand on the door and use it to turn the knob." Following his instructions, she dropped Nalir slack fingers onto the latch and the door popped open like a charm.

"_Bloody wizards!"_ Theresa muttered beneath her breath.

Ryden dragged Nalir inside, dumping him onto the bed, getting him tangled in the curtains as she went for a glass of water. The Guardsman exited quickly as she bustled back in. Ryden went to awkwardly circle the furniture as she sat on the edge of the four poster. Lifting Nalir's head she held the glass to his lips

"I know you're awake." She glowered, _"Drink."_

His green eyes cracked a fraction. And he scowled right back while taking the barest of sips. With an exasperated sigh she eased him back into the pillows, putting the glass on the side table before turning to get up.

"_Sorry..." _He whispered, hands tightened on her skirts before she could get far._ "Don't go…"_

And Theresa stared down at him, because he sounded so very wretched. All at once she remembered the story Sophie'd once told her about a conniption fit of Howl's that'd put him straight into a sick bed. She didn't have nearly as much patience as the silver sorceress when it came to tantrums. Nor did she feel like fetching a cup of warm milk. But it was impossible to stay angry as she watched a muscle jump at the back of his gritted jaw and saw the blood still fresh on his face.

At least he apologized.

"I won't," She murmured back, smoothing her hand over his etched brow, "Let me see to Ryden."

After a moment he let go.

Standing, she shut the door. Turning to confront the Wizard Guard.

He was sitting on the settee, shoulders hunched, elbows on his knees, big hands steepled. Although he was looking up at her from beneath the close crop of his brown hair. It'd been a long time since she'd seen the reedy fellow so sober.

"Seriously, Theresa… I have it in mind to go over you on this one. Right past Peoter and straight to Master Barimus."

She was around the couch and on her knees in front of him, catching up his hands. Begging didn't come easy to Theresa, but in this case it did.

"Please, Ryden! P-please d-don't!"

"By the Wall, Theresa!" He pulled back, face wiped clean with shock, "What the _hell's_ going on!?"

She still had his hands and she shook them for emphasis as she hissed between her teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible, "Don't you think I'd tell you if I could!?"

"You're in trouble, aren't you?" An earnest fire lit up his dun eyes as he bore down on her with rapt intensity. "This has to do with the crash, doesn't it?"

"I can't!" She whispered in dismay, "I promised."

"_Like hell you can't!"_ He snarled, trying to extricate himself from her grip. "That's it! I'm telling Peoter about this!"

"_Listen to me," _She barked back. "_Barimus' life is at stake!"_

All at once the red shirt when perfectly still. Theresa shoved him back to a seat, putting a finger between his brows, making him go cross-eyed as she leaned close, going more than dour.

"I told you I have good reasons! Trust me when I say we're not sitting on our hands. But this is a tangled ugly situation. We need to be careful. Do you get me?"

It wasn't a complete lie. Because they were waiting. But for what she had no idea. And she stared back barefaced as his eyes lifted to hers, still bleak with pain and anger. Theresa prayed he wasn't as shrewd as Nalir. Willing him not to call her bluff.

"You will tell me the moment anything changes."

"Yes," she breathed, trying not to let the tremble in her knees show.

"Do you still have that pistol I gave you?"

The question caught her off guard, "Y-yes…"

"Is it on you?"

"Yes." She colored slightly, embarrassed to admit the fact that it was. Because possession bordered on breaking the oath she'd taken to protect the loss of life. But all the same, it was tucked into her pocket. And had been there since she'd found out the crash had been anything but an accident.

"Good." He stood abruptly, turning towards the door.

"W-where are you going!?"

"_To get drunk again with the rest of the Reds!_ Maybe when I wake up the world will have gone back to normal! Maybe a friend won't be dead! And maybe my best friends won't be lying and cheating behind each other's backs!"

His words stung her into silence as the door slammed.

After a long moment she turned and went back into the bedroom. Sinking to a seat on the edge of the mattress. Nalir's back was to her. He was curled up in a tight ball. Although he was anything but asleep.

"You handled that well…"

"You are listening?"

"Spy." He murmured weakly, "Did you forget so soon?"

A lick of fury started up in her gut. "Thanks for you help!"

"I wouldn't have been much help. Ryden wouldn't have listened to me. But he listened to you."

His weary assurance was little solace. And Theresa scrubbed her face with her hands, letting out a ragged sigh as she hugged her knees, hiding her face in the musty black skirts. They smelled like an old wardrobe: dust and cedar.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"You tell me…" The bed shifted as he rolled over. And she stared down at the fragile length of his pale palm as it uncurled, reaching for her. Theresa took it without hesistation.

"Do we have a plan?"

"Yes." He replied without hesitation, "I'm going to kill Yewin."

She dropped his hand like a hot stone. Standing, she began pacing the length of the bed. Sick to her stomach.

"That is _not_ a solution!" She choked, "That's unspeakable! That's murder!"

"Unspeakable?" His harsh whisper chilled her insides, "He killed a hundred people, Theresa. He killed Theodrick. He's close to killing my mother. He would have killed Markl. He would have killed _you_. And he'll kill Barimus and _anyone_ else that gets in the way.

"_Killing him makes us just as bad as he is!"_

"I disagree." She cringed from his calm frosted judgment, avoiding his eyes even though they burned on her skin.

"How… How do you know all that? How do you know any of this!?"

"Yewin…" Nalir grew hushed with loathing, and she couldn't not look, "He did something to me…"

He had his face in his hands, huddled back into the cushions. He looked so small with his red hair spilling around his knees. Like he was an apprentice again. Tucked beside his mother's bed in the Healer's Wing.

"He… pushed open a door I didn't realize was there. And I _saw_! I _saw_ inside his head… He's a Supremacist, Theresa. He doesn't believe in the path of equity the Council has taken. And he means to wrest it away and cleanse the role by force if necessary. Like a surgeon cutting away diseased flesh. He's a Wallbreaker, Theresa… And I won't let him hurt anyone else!"

She looked at him for a long moment. Trying desperately to understand.

"W-what do you mean you saw inside his head?"

Nalir finally surface from his hands. Wan and tired, he lifted his jade eyes to hers, "What do you know about mind magic?"

"I… I know about MindSpeakers. I know its range is limited and not everyone can speak or hear except for Magi like you: FarSpeakers."

"Mind Magi are actually quite rare." He continued in his matter-of-fact way, slipping into the professorial voice she'd heard him use in class, "But there are other gifts beyond communication and scrying… Gifts of knowledge… And these are even rarer still."

Something clicked into place in Theresa's head, and a thrill went up her spine, "You're talking about TrueSight."

Nalir looked away, his green eyes glittering. Behind them all kinds of things were going on. Things she couldn't possibly begin to understand. Putting a hand to his head, he went white as the marble stone on which she'd found him sprawled earlier.

"_Gods_…" His anguished whisper struck a chord deep in her chest, "I didn't know… My mother… She's been _dying_ little by little… Everyday more and more! And I can't help her! Not without Yewin finding out!"

"I can do tests." Theresa offered quickly, trying to head off the panic in his voice as she came to the foot of the bed, "I can identify the toxins in your mother's blood and make an antidote. If the poison matches what… what _killed_ Theodrick, then that's evidence to corroborate our stories. Especially if Merra will testify before the Council."

"No." He shook his head stubbornly.

"And why not!?" She stamped her foot. _No_ was not the response she expected for such an obvious and _non-lethal_ course of action.

"Yewin still sees you as a pawn." And the logic was back in him, turning his eyes distant and considering as they fixed on her, cold as the snow on the sill, "He doesn't know you're wise to his game. That puts you in a position of power. A position we can use to our advantage when the time is right."

Again Theresa shrank from his detached composure, shied from the intrigue in which she was becoming increasingly entangled. And she hated it. Hated the feeling of helplessness that was slowly miring her deeper and deeper in a situation with no solution.

"You're looking at me like a chess piece… I don't like it."

Nalir's calm shattered explosively, like a piece of pottery hitting on the floor. "_Do you think I enjoy this!?_" He snapped, starting as if he'd frightened himself, trembling slightly as the anger in him melted, turning to fear, "I don't want you any deeper in this _madness_ then you already are! You have no idea how _terrified_ I am for you!"

"But he's _hurting_ you, Nalir!" She threw back a desperately, "Like you said, I can't stand by and let him hurt you or anyone else! _I won't!_"

He frowned heavily as she paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, waving as if trying and regain her attention. She ignored him, crossing her arms and staring at the carpet, even though she was listening.

"_Patience!_ Patience, Theresa!" He repeated firmly, "There's nothing we can do yet! All he has to do is let that secret slip and they'll be a firestorm. The Magi are already concerned by the monopoly the Wallmaker family has on positions of power in the Council, the Academy, and in service to King Ferdinand. More so, they've been _jealous_ of it for years."

Slowly, Theresa stopped listening.

Because there was so much to be done in Healer's Wing.

Coordination between the chiefs of the various departments.

Updates and training for the green Greenies.

The budding concept she had for integrating select Greens and Reds.

Cross training Magi and Healers for both guilds.

But suddenly all her plans didn't matter.

Nalir's despair was catching.

And all she wanted was to go back to Mrs. Fairfax's farm.

Pick apples.

Harvest honey.

Climb trees.

Plant sunflowers until a sea of gold covered all the rolling hills.

She wanted to get away from Kingsbury.

Away from the Tri-Council.

Away from the murder and the backstabbing.

But she was trapped! Hopelessly trapped!

Theresa hadn't noticed that Nalir had gone silent until she found herself standing stock still in the middle of the room.

"No." He argued. Even though she hadn't spoken a single word aloud, "There is hope."

"How can there he any hope in this?" She breathed on the verge of tears, because she very much needed some hope right now.

"He cannot see me. No one can."

Theresa stared at him through the moisture blurring her sight. Because she had no idea what he was talking about. But she did understand when that look came in his eyes, set them on fire with unearthly brightness. Understood when he held out his arms for her. Just for her.

"Come here!"

Wordlessly she went to him, climbing up on the bed to tuck her head under his chin so she could hear his heart knocking against her ear. It quickened as his arms wrapped around her. And he hummed the lullaby for her. The one he'd sung for her in the dark beneath the snow.

"Hush… Hush, little bird. Let my heart be your shield." He whispered as she drowsed. "No one will harm you."

She must have fallen asleep.

Nalir was shaking her gently.

And she cuddled into him with a stubborn moan. Because he was very warm, she was very comfortable, and hadn't slept at all last night.

"Theresa? Theresa, wake up."

Something in his voice yanked her right back to awake.

"Huh?"

As she half sat up she saw his eyes were far away again. Very, very far. And a slow look of consternation spread across his pale features.

"Master Barimus is in the hallway. _Oh gods_… He's at the door!"

Without a word Theresa clambered out of bed and bolted straight into the wardrobe. Black velvet nearly smothered her as she yanked the door closed, drowning in the stink of cedar and the faint spiciness of his smell. It was a tight squeeze with all her skirts, but at least she was wearing the right color.

"Nalir?" A knock came in the distance and Barimus called from the adjoining suit. "Are you awake?"

"Y-yes!"

Through a crack in the wardrobe door Theresa watched Nalir gracelessly tumble out of bed. Hastily he smoothed his hair and robes. She watched in awe as in a mere second he transformed, shedding all the troubles that stretched his thin features taut with fear. Up he stood, straight backed and poised. She couldn't imagine the strength it must have taken to do so. And she'd never let anyone call him weak or crippled ever again.

Barimus hesitated in the doorway.

Black did not suit the Royal Wizard.

It washed him out completely.

Even more so because he was positively vibrating with concern.

"I didn't mean to disturb your rest, Stars know you deserve it after all the work you've done. But, I… I was worried about you. Markl said you looked unwell."

At the mention of his apprentice brother's name a frown cracked his façade for a thin second. But Nalir hid it by bowing his head into his hand as if it pained him. Whether it was for show or real, Theresa couldn't tell.

"I am honored by your concern, sir. But I am fine. Just tired."

A grimace that bordered on a smile pulled the blond sorcerer's lips, "Can we dispense with propriety for the moment, Nalir?"

"S-sorry, Master Barimus…" The thin Mardan cringed awkwardly. "I don't know how to be any other way…"

And it was hard for Theresa not to smile. He was so very cute when he was caught off guard.

"Stop apologizing for yourself, Nalir."

"Yes, Master Barimus."

"Just _Barimus_, Nalir…." The Royal Sorcerer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned heavily against the doorframe.

"Barimus?" The situation shifted as Nalir peered at his master with pinched worry, "A-are you alright?"

"I have something important to discuss with you," Straightening wearily he motioned to the chair at the side table, "May I?"

"P-please."

Nalir sank onto the mattress as his teacher sat, crossing his arms across his chest as he looked out the window much like Nalir had earlier. And her foster father's brown eyes were very far away. As if remembering something she couldn't begin to guess.

"You will probably be surprised to know that I am not Sorceress Suliman's choice for the position of Royal Sorcerer."

Theresa held her breath as her cheeks began to burn.

She was _definitely not_ supposed to be hearing this conversation!

And Nalir's face went absolutely blank, "W-what?"

Barimus continued unperturbed, settling as he crossed the ankles of his long legs, telling a story Theresa'd never heard before. And she'd practically lived in the Wallmakers' household.

"Howl was the last apprentice dear Suliman took on, this you already know. He is a prodigy in every sense of the word. But he was also a spoiled, vain, little fool of an apprentice."

"I picked up after him! Apologized for him! Strove to get him to take his education seriously! Tried to get him to focus on his studies instead of chasing girls or showing off to the other apprentices! You probably don't know that although I was several years his senior, my brother excelled me in every aspect of magic. To say we hated each other would be a ridiculous understatement." He smirked into his hand, as if enjoying some private joke. "Stars above that boy could throw a tantrum. He still can!"

Barimus waved a hand in the air as if to dismiss the thought. She'd seen him make the same gesture at home so many times.

"Suliman only smiled whenever I tried to talk to her about Howl. I'd never seen her so completely charmed by someone besides King Ferdinand. It broke her heart with he disappeared." And the ghost of old anger passed through his warm brown eyes, turning them flinty, "How I hated him for leaving her! For leaving me! And then I hated him even more when she never gave up hope that he'd eventually come home, which is why she named him her heir. _Him_. Not me."

Barimus crossed his arms again, shaking his head, "Howl didn't want to be Royal Sorcerer. Bless her and rest her soul forever in the beyond, but it was a very, very poor for choice Suliman to make. Sometimes even the most infallible people can be wrong. Even when they're so very sure they're right."

Theresa was dumbfounded.

She couldn't possibly imagine Howl as the Royal Sorcerer.

And apparently neither could Nalir. He was gaping like a drowning fish.

"But… But _you're_ the Royal Sorcerer!"

The blond man winced as a hint of color crept into his cheeks. And he scratched the bristles of his slowly silvering beard.

"Howl and I took some very creative measure to correct _that_ situation. But that was ages ago. It all worked out for the best, hence I am the one wearing red and not he. Figuratively in this case. And I would not change what we did for anything in the worlds."

Nalir was still staring at his teacher. But his green eyes were anything but confused. From the closet Theresa could see understanding dawning on him much in the same way it was overtaking her. And his hands clasped so tightly in his lap his knuckles were white.

"Why are you telling me this?"

The Royal Sorcerer dropped his eyes, smoothing a hand over his hair, "I am telling you this because over these past few days I have seen a strange man in the palace. A man whom I have known for some time but only recently began to see. On more than one count I owe this man for his service. Equally so, Ingary owes this man. So do Tyrn and Marda. I have talked with King Ferdinand. And I have talked with Howl. My brother and I are in agreement. You are the best choice."

Nalir was on his feet, shaking, clutching the bed post. "W-what about Markl?"

The Lord Councilor put his hands up reassuringly, "I had a feeling you would react this way. I've already spoken with him. Markl doesn't want this. Never has. I love my nephew like a son but he is not the right choice. He knows it and always has. It was foolish of me to try and shape him into something he is not. You are the right choice. Here you've been under my nose for _six_ years. I'm an idiot not for realizing this sooner."

Barimus stood only to take a knee, bowing to his apprentice

"Do you swear to lead the Guard, defend our home and our King? Do you swear to protect all homes and all peoples regardless of race or form? Do you swear to guide the Tri-Council and proctor the Academy, though they may often be a _silly_ gaggle of willful idiots? Will you offer council and support to the Wallmakers? Will you overcome any hatred and evil that may threaten our tenuous peace, lest the Wall fall and our worlds be unmade?"

His voice swelled with such pride and love that Theresa felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Nalir… Will you be my heir?"

And she realized she was holding her breath, going giddy in the tight press of the closet. Because Nalir looked about ready to pass out. For a moment she almost though he did. She almost went lurching out of the wardrobe to catch him. Almost. But he had just gone to his knees before his teacher. Head bowed so low that his red hair brushed the floor.

"_I swear."_ And she could barely hear his hoarse whisper. _"I swear!"_

"_Good!"_ Barimus all but crowed; laughing as Theresa'd not heard him laugh in such a long time. Pounding his heir on the back as he yanked the skinny fellow to his feet. Hugging him tightly only to hold him back and beam like the very sun, "It will be announced this evening at the Ball!"

"T-thank you, Master Barimus." Nalir's weak smile was utterly brittle. Completely false. And it was a wonder her foster father didn't see. But he was too happy. Too excited to notice.

"I am master no more and you are no longer an apprentice!" Her foster-father cuffed him on the shoulder playfully, "Soon enough you'll have your own student and then you'll see what a pain and a bore it is to be called _Master_. Now get some rest! I'll see you tonight!"

The moment Barimus left and the door shut Nalir crumbled to his knees, falling prostrate on the floor. Theresa burst out of the wardrobe and fell, finding her legs had gone completely numb. Clambering over she pulled at him. But he remained anchored to the rug.

"_I can't do this… I can't…" _

"Get up, Nalir." She put her arms around his shoulders, resting her head between his shoulder blades. His heart was beating a million miles a minute. "Please get up."

"_I swore it, Theresa…_ _I swore!"_ He gasped hoarsely, shaking so hard she could hear his teeth chattering.

She managed to pull him upright enough to dump him back into bed, undoing the hooks at his neck and chest so he could breath easier. Reaching into her closet-pocket she yanked out a flask. This she put to his lips after gently lifting his head.

"Drink." She soothed, "Just a sip."

He complied and she snatched it back before he could take anymore.

"Oh…" He breathed as if expelling every care in his body, eyes closing as his head lolled back into the pillows, "Thank you…"

Drugging Royal Sorcerers was becoming a habit.

And she watched him go completely limp. Theresa pulled the blankets over him, smoothing hair back from fine features. Tension eased from his face as sleep soaked him through with relaxation. Oh, but he was handsome when he wasn't scowling or looking harried.

For once she didn't mind taking care of this man.

It was no burden.

This felt right.

And against his wishes, from his room she went straight to the Healer's Wing. It was practically empty. A few Greens scuttled about at the main entrance, keeping watch for the needy. But most were at the Memorial or getting ready for the Ball. No one looked at her twice as she pushed past the storage rooms, the examination halls, and the sick wards, going down an unmarked corridor into the back halls only Healers saw. After what felt like ages of walking the temperature took a sudden dip. And she could see her breath as she pushed through a set of double doors into an austere world of tile, metal, and death.

The morgue was empty too.

Save a single body lain out in state.

Covered with a sheet.

Her insides lurched, going sick with anxiety as she skirted the edge of the room, going to the supply cabinet, finding a syringe. Avoiding looking at the body beneath the sheet. She'd seen scores of dead bodies, both known and unknown. It was part and parcel of been a Green. All the same, her skin crawled as she drew back the sheet just enough to expose one of Theodrick's blistered arms. The blood that filled the vial was black and thick.

Disturbing the dead was horribly bad luck.

But it was a small price to pay to avenge a wronged soul.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as tears pricked her eyes.

And then a muffled groan snatched up her attention. It was something you only noticed after nearly a decade of living someplace. Especially if you had a habit of creeping around inside that place's walls. Theresa immediately recognized the sound of hall floorboards bending as someone tried to move as quietly as possible.

Someone was in the hallway!

In a second she was inside the supply closet, her heart pounding in her ears. She peered through a crack by the hinges as a shadow moved by the milky glass of the Morgue's double doors.

Yewin pushed through.

Stilling the swinging planks behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Holding her breath, peering from a crack in the closet door, Theresa watched as Yewin slipped into the Morgue.

Her insides went as cold as the frosty room.

And she saw the Green Magi as if for the first time.

Gone was the rosy smile that normally blessed his face. His features were cold and composed; green eyes shrewd and cruel. Reptile's eyes. Like some monster, his short breaths curled up bright plumes of white as he scanned the room. And she put a hand over her mouth lest the same cloud give her away.

This man was a stranger. An oath breaker.

A murderer.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Theresa cursed herself for not thinking this through. _Of course_ he would be watching the morgue! Because at sunset the Theodrick's family would carry his body to his pyre. The body would be burned so that he could follow his soul into the beyond. And all the evidence would be destroyed, which is why she acted so rashly. But it was stupid of her not to stop and think. Not to realize Yewin would be watchful of anyone interacting with the body. She probably blundered through a whole slew of charms. Not for the first time she despaired at being non-magical. The world of the Magi was completely foreign to her. Too many possibilities for sneakiness. She couldn't consider them all. Her head just didn't work that way.

Theresa's knees went weak as Yewin paused.

A frown pulled his lips down as he regarded Theodrick's exposed arm.

_Shit, shit, shit! _

She'd forgotten to put the sheet back.

The green Magi returned the cloth. And then cleared his throat.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are?" He sang cheerfully.

Making her go light-headed with terror. Because the expression on his face was anything but pleasant. It was dangerous. And they were so very deep into the Green Wing. No one would probably hear her if she screamed.

"Are we going to play a game?" He continued, stooping to look under the tables. "I do love hide and seek. But I know you're in here. And I will find you."

Pocketing the vial, backing into the corner of the closet, she ran her hands over the paneling. Trying not to panic as the smooth wall remained whole. There had to be a passage here! They were everywhere! Practically every closet had an access panel. How else where the maintenance crews supposed to get into the walls to fix the pipes!? Her nails dug into the seems of the wood, prying at the length of wood until it popped open miraculously. She almost dropped it! Squeezing through into the narrow passage, Theresa yanked the panel back into place just as Yewin threw open the closet doors.

Pressed back into the yawning dark, she held her breath, going still as stone, staring through the cracks in the paneling. Her skirts did nothing to warm her now. Cold sweat had broken out all across her skin, beading on her upper lip. And her hand went to the pistol in her pocket.

The Green prayed.

Prayed to the Stars that fate would not make her an Oath breaker as well.

She had only one shot. But she was a good shot.

Ryden was teaching her musketry.

And he was a very good teacher.

But Yewin only stared. His countenance wiped with shock for a brief moment as he scoured the empty closet. And a blade of light caught his face as he straightened. Frustration twisted it into a mask of fury. With a stab of relief she realized he couldn't see her! Didn't have a clue that she was there!

Perhaps there was some value in being non-magical after all.

She cringed back against the slats and plaster, feeling the sharp prick of nails as he slammed the doors. Dust filtered down from above, and she bowed her head, covering her face as she struggled not to sneeze. Seconds later the double doors squeaked and from inside the wall Theresa listened to him stalk down the hall. And her insides skittered in terror as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet when he passed within inches of her. Going down the corridor. Around the corner. Back towards the front desk.

A sneezing fit seized her as Theresa sank to her knees, skirts ballooning up, filling the narrow space. She sat there a long moment as her teeth chattered in the dark. Dizzy with relief and her madly pumping heart rate.

If he knew when she'd entered then he'd know when she left.

But she had no intentions of leaving via the Morgue's front door.

Sideling down the passage, Theresa clambered around the pipes and wires winding their way through the insides of the wall. Finally coming to a junction. Here the pipes went up through a shaft that stretched all the way to the attic for all she knew. These shafts were all throughout the palace. And she could get from one floor to another easily by climbing the pipes. All that time climbing trees suddenly paid off big time. But there was no way she was getting up four stories in ten skirts and a pair of boots.

Shucking down to her bloomers and chemise, hooking the pistol through the back of her smalls, she stowed the vial of blood in her pocket. Suddenly she was very grateful to whatever mad women decided the undergarment needed a pocket. Grabbing the nearest pipe she yanked back her hands with a hiss. Hot water in that one. Finding a cooler pipe, she hauled herself up, bracing with her bare feet as she climbed, counting the floors. Martha's office was at the very top of the Green Wing. And embedded in the closet door was a portal back to their town estate. Built on the same plot as the house they'd lost in the Daemon War.

Her arms were aching. Thighs trembling.

Because it'd been a long time since she'd had time to climb trees.

Martha had long since ceased doing business as an herbalist. Her time was completely taken up as Green Representative to the Tri-Council and coordinator of the various departments constituting the Healer's Guild. More and more she leaned on Theresa to keep things running at the Green Guild as Council work became more and more entangled with arguments. But they still had a workshop at the cottage. Everything she needed was there.

And all she wanted right now was to be home.

Home was safe.

And right now she very much wanted safe.

Because something in Yewin's eyes chilled her to the core. Something appallingly familiar. She'd seen that look before. The look of someone who believed in what they were doing, believed no matter what the cost. It was the same look in Erin Danna's eyes when she tried to take Akarshan from her during the Daemon Wars.

Suddenly her hands closed over a wet length of pipe.

And the traction of her bare feet failed as they encountered slippery metal.

She slid several feet, clinging to the pipe as it jerked with a rickety pop, leaning to the side with a groan. Water poured down from above. Hitting her like a cold slap to the face. Coughing and sputtering, she reached for the opposite pipe, gritting her teeth as the hot metal burned her palms. Shimmying across, she escaped the waterfall, hauling herself up in spite of the blistering heat. Throwing herself the last few inches until her hands caught the lip of the top floor. Dangling by her arms, she stared in dismay as the broken pipe dumped a steady stream of water down the duct.

The bottom floor was going to flood completely!

And she groaned miserably.

Because she was the one that would see to clean up.

Pulling herself up onto the dusty landing, she sidled her way through the wall, making much easier progress without skirts or petticoats in her way. And the dust cleared. A testament to how much time she spent inside these walls. Darting her way through the familiar labyrinth of the fourth floor corridors. Her teeth were chattering as she popped out into the sharp herby darkness inside the storage closet. Peering through the keyhole, she found the office empty. Martha must have gone home. Thank the stars. Because she couldn't quite conceive of a way to explain how she'd managed to loose her clothes and get drenched in water inside the storage closet let alone try and explain the gun tucked into her knickers. Martha _abhorred_ weapons of any kind.

She closed the closet after her, turning the dial to green.

Snatching back her hand as a prickly stab surged up her arm.

Theresa stared at the control panel. Baffled.

Because it'd never done that before.

Her insides lurched as she touched the latch, receiving the same eerie tingle. Goosebumps shivered their way up her skin as the very joints of her fingers seemed to vibrate. And she marveled. Because this was magic! She was feeling magic! Theresa yanked the door open and pitched through the portal, stumbling into the front entry of their house. The door creaked closed, and as the connection severed her insides spun giddily. Theresa caught a hold of the coat rack beside the door, clinging until the world ceased to pitch. Her rear hit the tiled steps before she realized she'd sat down. She was positively quaking with relief.

_Home!_ Her insides thrilled. _Safe!_

Scrambling up, she grabbed a jar by the front door and doused the threshold with a handful of sharply smelling green leaves. Agrimony. Martha insisted on having it by all the portals. Old habits and superstitions died hard, but there was nothing wrong with a little protection from evil. Sticking a spring of it in her hair, Theresa listened to the house.

Nothing but quiet greeted her.

Martha was either asleep or Sophie'd brought her back to the castle.

It was hard to pass through the cozy drawing room and not fall down onto the cushions in Barimus' great red velvet chair. And the wide couch beckoned her, resplendent with a fuzzy purple afghan Granny Witch finished recently. It was always warm here even though there was no fire in the hearth. And a soothing light filtered through the gauzy emerald curtains. Her foster father rebuilt the house with all manner of magicks, permeating the very boards and bricks with charms and protections, some more practical than preventative. Although her bare feet slapped against the hardwood floors as she pushed by, ducking into the bright kitchen before hooking through a door leading to a flight of stairs that dropped down into the dark herby press of workshop beneath the cottage.

It was cold in the daylight basement in spite of the fact that it sported several south facing windows. Although there was about two feet of snow in the light shafts, half blocking the panes. Sending long shadows among the bushels and bunches of herbs hanging from the exposed rafters. Three long tables filled the open space with a u-shape of work space, and stands upon stands of glass faced cabinets lined the walls, brimming with bottles, jars, tins, and containers of all sizes, colors, and shapes.

But she didn't feel the bite of cold beneath her bare feet.

She'd been running hot for the past few days anyway.

Going to the work tables, Theresa fell into a flurry of action.

She hauled a spindly geared contraption out of the cabinets beneath the worktop. A series of curving glass lenses lined up as she turned the gears, an amplification glass designed by Howl himself. Theresa stopped a moment to light the gas lamps overhead as it proved still too dark. As she touched flame to the globes, he hooked open an adjacent cabinet with her toes, pausing to retrieve a glass jar full of flimsy white slips from the cabinets. Back at the work top, she pulled the vial from her pocket and held it up, gazing at the black liquid inside.

This was it.

The one chance she had at saving them all from bloodshed.

Carefully opening the jar, she used a pair of tweezers to pull out two slips of paper so white they seemed to glow in the gas light. Laying these out on the slate surface, she cracked the syringe, using a pin to collect a single drop from inside. Touching it to the slip, the paper sucked up the blood almost hungrily. But the dot stretched, separating, filling the tiny square with an almost unperceivable pattern. But it wasn't a pattern. The tiny squiggles were actually words.

TellSlips were extremely rare.

A magical component afforded them thru Barimus' position.

The charmed slips of rice paper would reveal in minute print any and all constituents of the substance touched to it. It was essential that they remain clean because they could easily be contaminated. But when used properly they were an amazing tool for diagnosing all manner of maladies.

Corking the vial, she put it back into her _closet_ pocket.

No matter what, it was staying with her.

Then she used another needle to prick her own finger, touching the bright red blob to the second slip. She would run concurrent tests, using her blood as a control to compare to Theodrick's. Lifting the squares with tweezers, she affixed them to the specimen plate under the amplifying unit, turning and toggling the various lenses until the view through the top plate cleared. And the words coalesced, revealing themselves. Snagging a note pad from the work table, Theresa jotted down all the words on Theodrick's slip, comparing to her blood as necessary when things appeared that she didn't recognize. Baring all the usual male hormonal occupants, if it was present in her blood it should be present in his.

Then she found them.

Words scrawled in blotchy print that marked the fact that it did not belong.

Jumping up from the desk she hauled a massive black tome from the shelf, flipping through thousands of pages so thin they were transparent. Definitions of materials filled the book with tiny descriptions. And her insides stilled with victory and consternation as she looked up the components and found them capable to inducing lethal convulsions.

Nalir was right.

Theodrick had been poisoned.

But there was nothing in the chemistry of his blood to prove that Yewin had been the one to give him the dose.

Once again the hopelessness seized her. And Theresa sank her head into her hands over the viewing lenses. The tiny words blurred into oblivion until tears feel onto the glass plate. Blinking them back, she reached out to smudge away the salt, and then noticed something out of place on her slip. Something that didn't appear on Theodrick's. Something she didn't recognize. Frowning at it, she opened the desk reference and flipped through the pages. After reading halfway through the listing, she dropped the book.

It hit the table with a hollow thud, jolting the equipment awry. With shaking hands she fished out multiple slips. Stabbing another finger until scores of red rectangles lined up on the slate. All of them listing the same hormone. And her head emptied of anything but dates as she counted back the days only to find that she was late.

Gripping the edge of the table, Theresa forgot about everything.

Except for the fact that she was pregnant.

"_Knock, knock!"_ Lettie sang from the upstairs landing.

And the freckle-faced woman started bolt upright, yanking the pistol from her bloomers only to stuff it in her _closet_ pocket as the Caterer came down the stairs like a dream in pale pink chiffon. Theresa was gaping. The perfect bell of her skirts set off a waist still tiny in spite of three children. She must have been wearing at least twenty petticoats! And her platinum hair coiled up, pinned with diamonds to match the sparkles at her neck and ivory gloved wrists.

"I've been looking _all_ over Kingsbury for you, young lady!" Although the blonde came up short at the bottom of the stairs. Hands going to her mouth as she stared first, then frowned in dismay. "Sweetheart, you're absolutely _filthy_! What _have_ you been doing!?"

Theresa looked down at herself only to realize she was covered in thick grime and cobwebs. Lingering gifts from the innards of the Palace walls.

"Tsk, tsk! _Girls!_" The blonde caterer clapped her hands and a score of young women in pink Cesari's uniform flooded into the stairs. Lettie pointed right at her, making Theresa take a step backwards. "Get her into the bath. We've got a lot of work to do before the Ball starts."

The Cesari maidens flooded around her, pulling her upstairs where they scrubbed, buffed, and moisturized her within an inch of her life. And then they attacked her hair. Combed! Coiled! Pinned! It took three of them alone to pile it up on top of her head into a braided crown. A glorious corona of red. Theresa had to stand up straight otherwise she listed, more than top heavy. At some point in time they must have woken Martha up, because every so often she caught a glimpse of green among the sea of pink.

"_Out!"_ Lettie scolded her sister.

"Hold still," one of the maids chided as she laced up the under corset.

Theresa'd only just managed to yank the pocket lining from her other bloomers before they drowned her legs in silk stockings, garters, and petticoats. But they weren't all that bad. The underskirts made an interesting swishing sensation against her skin. It was difficult not to rock from side to side to get them started. Anything to keep her mind off of the results.

Her knees wobbled as the thought skittered through the back of her head.

Like a spider trundling across the ceiling.

"Arms up!" Lettie ordered.

She threw her hands over her head only to be swallowed in endless yards of whispering gold as the girls eased the dress around her hair, guiding her arms through the tiny poofs that were a strange excuse for sleeves. There wasn't much to the top. The same for the cap sleeves. They just sort of hung off her shoulders. Pretty. But utterly useless. The same girl yanked her off balance as they pulled tight an external set of lacings. The others went after her bare arms with silky ivory gloves that buttoned with pearls at her wrists.

"Shoes!" Lettie commanded from somewhere. And Theresa jumped as someone grabbed one ankle after the other, guiding her feet into what she could only guess was a shoe. She couldn't see her feet in this get up.

Good gods, she'd never get out of this thing alone!

"And now the final touches," All at once the blond Hatter sister was right in front of her, brush in hand, face a perfect mask of concentration as she carefully applied various colors to her face. Finishing with a shlack of something sticky on her lips. The same glossy stuff that was probably on her lips.

"Do this," Lettie mimed rubbing her lips together and Theresa complied.

She stood back, looking her over with a critical eye. Tugging at her skirt and tucking at a few curls before her face broke into the most beautiful of smiles.

"Gold is a _very_ good color on you, sweetheart."

Again she clapped and the girls withdrew. Avoiding the mirror and moving a little awkwardly at first, Theresa left the bath. Unnerved by the fact that her skirts filled the hallway entirely. Lettie was halfway down the hall, hands on her hips, scowling at her sister.

"_Please_ tell me that's _not_ what you're wearing! _Green_, Martha! Why must you _always_ wear green!?"

The Herbalist was dressed up by any account Theresa could recall. Shining hair long and smooth like black silk save for the streaks of gray, wearing a velvet dress that fell like emerald water. Barimus' ruby necklace glittered like a drop of blood against her breast. But Martha didn't rise to Lettie's comment, nor did she loom or scowl back as she normally would have. She was too busy staring. Right at her. Her sallow face went sallower still as heat flooded Theresa's cheeks. Shock transforming to such subtle sadness her apprentice almost missed it.

A bewildered grimace pulled at her lips.

Or perhaps it was a smile.

Theresa couldn't tell.

"You're all grown up." Her foster mother breathed.

"Of _course_ she's all grown up!" Lettie huffed as she shooed her girls down the stairs, following in their wake, "She's been a woman for a while."

But Lettie was down the stairs before she could catch the nasty look the Herbalist sent after her. Her green eyes softened as they turned back to Theresa, lingering on the edge of her bodice with a hint of disapproval. But whatever reprimand she'd been stewing went unserved.

"I have something for you," Martha motioned her back down the hall.

Tucked under the eaves, the bedroom the Royal Sorcerer shared with his wife was anything but grand. The wood furniture was rustic, carved and painted in the folk styles of Chipping Market. It matched the rest of the house, which was just as unassuming. But the Herbalist stopped at her dressing table, opening a box that Theresa recognized immediately. And her insides stilled as her foster mother drew out a gold braid dripping with emeralds. There were matching earrings.

These weren't just any piece of jewelry. At one time they belonged to Barimus' mother. They were talismans. Every sorcerer and sorceress wore them. Even Markl, who didn't know the first thing about jewelry.

"He and I both want you to have these."

"B-but… I'm not a Magi!"

"Never stopped me from wearing Barimus' necklace." Martha held them out with a brittle smile that made her eyes glisten with tears, "You are our daughter. They are for you."

Theresa took them with shaking hands, fasting them behind her neck. A fey prickle dance across her bare skin as the cool metal warmed slowly, seeming to fade away, as though it was becoming part of her. Martha nearly knocked her over as she hugged her, squeezing her so tight she squeaked. But just as suddenly as the affection came, she drew back, spinning her around and giving her a shove towards the door.

"Go. He's waiting."

Theresa came up short on the threshold.

He?

Flouncing out onto the landing, mostly because it was impossible not to flounce dressed as she was, Theresa blinked, finding Markl at the foot of the stairs. The amethysts talismans at his ears glinted in the gas lights. His hair was actually brushed back so you could see them. There was no mud on his boots. And the rich doublet of green velvet glowed like a leaf struck by the sun. The sleeves split from elbow to wrist, reveal a lining of warm amber brown to match his eyes. Although because of his colors he looked like a well dressed tree. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him dressed up. But it happened so rarely it was still a little unnerving.

The feeling must have been mutual.

Because he went redder in the face than she'd ever seen him as she came down the stairs. The poor thing looked like a freshly steamed lobster. And he shrank from the hem of her skirt as though he was afraid it was on fire.

"You…" He stammered, "You look like a g-girl."

Theresa snorted. It was such a Markl thing to say.

From where she was peering around the kitchen threshold, Lettie slapped a hand to her forehead. Turning away, she produced a mirror from thin air so she could check her face. And the Cesari Maids clambered to fill her absence, snooping just as notoriously as their mistress.

"What're you doing here?" She queried in distraction, because she caught a flash of green at the top of the stairs before it withdrew hastily.

"Um… Escorting you t-to the ball?"

It was a question. Not an answer. And he fidgeted, awkwardly pulling at one of his earrings before offering her his elbow. She took it with a sinking feeling. Because this was very obviously a Hatter Sister set-up. And she spared a glance at the living room just in case a flash of blue could be found.

"D-do you need, ah…" And his chin jerked up, color deepening as she struggled to look at anything but her chest, "A jacket or something?"

"Nah. It's always too warm at these things anyway."

"K-kay…"

Markl turned the dial to green, opening the door on Martha's office. Without another word they slipped through out into the hallways of the Healer's Wing. Theresa despaired as she saw a fleet of harried greenies go clambering by with mops and buckets. But they were out into the solarium, cutting through the gardens on a short cut. And although the sky beyond the glass was dark, in the distance the low snowy clouds reflected blazing oranges of the funeral pyre.

And the thoughts came creeping.

Just as Markl suddenly came to a stop.

"Common!" She tugged, "We're late!"

"They'll do fine without us." He murmured with gentle determination.

His hand was clammy as it dropped to hers. And her objection dried up as he pulled her under the leaning shelter of a nodding willow. Markl had to stoop to keep from tangling his well brushed head in the branches. And he stood pigeon toed among the tree roots.

"Barimus is choosing Nalir." He blurted all of a sudden.

And she blinked, hastily trying to act surprised, "W-what?"

"Nalir will be Royal Sorcerer and Akarshan will grow up to be the Wallmaker." Marl was talking more and more quickly, growing increasingly excited, "Do you know what that means? Apple orchards and honey bees!"

"S-slow down!" Theresa frowned, "You're not making sense."

"_I know! _I'm _no_ good at this!" Suddenly he was breaking a sweat, staring at his boots, although he kept her hand, staring at her in utter amazement. "Dunno know what it is about _you_. All the words get tangled up inside and they don't come out whenever _you're_ around. I though I was being clear. But I wasn't. I wish there was an easier way for me to make this clearer. This was all I could think of."

Understanding didn't dawn on her until he got down on one knee.

Still holding her hand.

And there was a ring in his fingers.

A fat emerald to match the ones at her throat.

Wordlessly, he offered it to her.

She stared.

It matched the ones at her throat and ears.

Oh shit… _Shit, shit, shit, shit!_

Not now.

Gods, please not now!

Not with what was on the TellSlip.

Unconsciously a hand stole to her stomach.

And she wasn't ready for this yet.

None of this.

"Oh… D-don't cry! Please don't cry!" He was patting her shoulder clumsily, "Lettie said you might cry." Now he was patting at his doublet, "She gave me a hankie and everything just in case."

"I'm not gonna cry…" She breathed, still staring at the ring. "I… I don't know what to say…"

Black bricks, she felt faint! _Stupid, stupid corset!_

"Yes?" A goofy grin cracked his face, hopeful and endearing as he held out the ring. For once the look in his eyes was anything but immature.

Suddenly she understood what he said about apple orchards and bees.

And her heart swelled.

Breaking in two.

Two pieces. Two possibilities. Two choices.

But she couldn't decide.

"C-can… Can I think about this?"

If her heart wasn't already broken the look on his face would have shattered it into pieces. Too quickly the hurt dissolved behind a stubborn frown of confusion.

"S-sure… But you should probably hold onto this." He pressed the ring into her palm, closing her gloved fingers around, as a sheepish smile pulled at his lips, "Otherwise I'll probably lose it."

Oh, you sly, sly bastard!

Because she didn't have anywhere to put it beside her finger. And she wasn't about to hike up her petticoats to stuff it in her bloomer pocket. But she reconsidered. Because that kind of cunning wasn't part of Markl's character. One of the Aunts must have told him to make her keep the ring. Just in case. Theresa tried not to grimace as she tried to put it on the wrong hand. It wouldn't fit any of the fingers. Not even after she stripped off her glove.

Although it did fit one finger.

And it was hard not to miss his secret smile as he stood.

"Did you magic this ring?" She scowled at the dirt and dried leaves on his knees, resisting the urge to lean down and dust them off.

"No." He lied as the smile turned to a smirk.

Although it disappeared as he leaned in all of a sudden, hair falling into his warm amber eyes. She froze as he kissed her on the lips. Gently. Sweetly. Not nearly as bad as before. No Heen slobbering. He'd just shaved. Smelling very, very faintly of hyacinth. And a curl of smoke started up from the ember in his half of her heart.

"Common…" He had her by the hand, striding on long steps as he pulled her free of the cocooning willow branches. "Now we really are late."

Theresa almost lost her shoes several times as she struggled to keep up with him. Finally decorations started showing up in the trees. Gigantic orbs and twists of colorful blown glass. And in the distance she could hear the music and the muffled roar of hundreds of voices. Hauling Markl to a stop, she finally did dust off his knees and yank him down by the shirt so she could smooth his hair.

"I hate these things," He muttered petulantly. "Dunno how Nalir stands them. And he goes to practically ever one."

A lick of anger started up in her gut as she realized Markl didn't really know much about his apprentice brother. All the same, she took his arm again, starting them off at a more sedate pace.

"This party isn't for you Markl." She scolded, "It's for everyone else. So smile and at least try to act like you're having fun."

"Oh…" He frowned, "Didn't think about it that way."

Coming around a hedge of laurel festooned with tinsel, they both came up short as the Grand Atrium opened before them. The gilded veins of the enormous glass ceiling dripped with magicked icicles as illusory snow floated down from a spinning ice crystal chandelier. Holly and ivy twined with red and gold ribbon around every banister, pillar, bulwark and balustrade. It decorated the banquet tables and the serving platters from which the uniformed servant offered rare delectable and spindly fluted drinks. It even found purchase on some of the guests who wreathed their heads in traditional style. Especially the Red Guard, who were flying at full sail per the holiday tradition. Scattered throughout the room, they guard wore sprigs of holly and ivy pinned to their uniforms, chatting and rubbing elbows with the guests.

An orchestra pitted itself at the foot of the Royal scaffold, playing a merry waltz for the whirling dancers that spun beneath the fall of false ice. Beyond them sat King Ferdinand, King Justin, and King Walden. All sat at the same height in identical gilded thrones and over their heads hung the arms of each of their countries.

Theresa frowned at the two empty thrones beside King Ferdinand's.

No flags hung over the golden seats.

Although her attention was snatched away as the bristle bearded monarch of Ingary let out a boisterous laugh, pausing from talking pink into the cheeks of King Justin's new bride, a blonde Tyranese princess who's name Theresa couldn't recall. Justin and Walden's wife Shayla listened to Ferdinand's anecdote with wide knowing grins. But the Boy King of Tyrn leaned with earnest interest towards Howl, who had pulled up a chair from the sidelines. From the look of his hands, the Magi was deep into a discussion of some magic. Standing in his shadow scanning the audience stood Barimus. There was a calm smile on the Royal Wizard's face, although worry in his brown eyes was plain for her to see. Hastily Theresa tossed her gaze over the party-goers. Looking for a blot of black. Finding him missing. He should have only be out for an hour or two.

Half her heart twisted with worry.

But the other half remained hooked by the elbow to Markl.

A flash of pink followed by blue and green carried Theresa's eyes to the dessert table. There they were. All three of the Hatter sisters. And they avoided looking. Lettie slapped Akarshan's hand as he tried to stick his finger in the pale blue icing of the monstrous cake. They may have been acting oblivious, but many of the guests were gawking openly at whose arm she'd entered on. The Herbalist's apprentice couldn't help but despair. Between the visiting dignitaries and the Cesari maids, gossip would be all over the Tri-Countries by morning. Theresa picked out a tall stand of red in the milling sea of faces and colors. Still decked out in red and festooned with the garlands of the season thanks to the girls at his elbows, Ryden looked right at them from across the room. And the easy smile on his handsome face fell to a frown.

Theresa cringed as Markl waved.

And shame burned her cheeks as confusion darkened their friend's eyes.

Although the freckle-faced woman jumped as a spark of blue arched over the ceiling, falling, only to collect up into a spitting ball of red flame just before them. Several near by guests gasped and shrank from the fire spirit. She still had trouble sometimes.

"Hey Theresa." Calcifer never paused from glaring at Markl. "You're late! They're gonna be here any moment!"

The Wallmaker's son blanched, "They're really coming!?"

"Of course they're coming!" He flared up sooty red, emitting a belch of black smoke, "What'd you think Howl an' Barimus're doin' up there on stage?"

"Can she really come through?"

"Nox seems to thinks so, but then again, it's Nox." The flame spirit rolled his eyes, although he touched with a sober teal as he continued. "She could do it by herself. She doesn't need the help. And I think'll do this lot a service to see her. They need to get over they're fear of each other. Especially us."

_Us._ By which he meant daemons.

Although Calcifer was frowning at the two obvious camps in the ballroom: Country folk, and Magi. Neither appeared to be mixing well.

"Who's coming?" Theresa pulled on Markl's arm, still confused.

"Dierdrie." He whispered beneath his breath.

And Theresa blinked.

That was like saying a Goddess was coming to diner. Because that's pretty much what she'd become. Back during the Daemon War the Wallmaker's family had paid a heavy price to save them all. Dierdrie hadn't just fixed the broken Wall. She'd _became_ the Wall. And slowly but surely she was transforming it: one sooty brick at a time. Absorbing the hate. Scrubbing it clean with love and goodness. Turning the Dull Wall white and pure. And in just six years the green place was spreading to the other side now. Pushing back the scorched planes. Healing the scar of suffering that nearly undid the two worlds eons ago in the Mage Wars.

Theresa craned her neck as Howl stiffened, his sapphire eyes going distant. With a suave bow, he disentangled himself from Walden, who was still fascinated by magic of all kinds. And the Wallmaker turned a meaningful glance towards his brother. Barimus nodded, casting the same glance at Captain Peoter, who threw a signal at the Conductor of the orchestra while the Royal Sorcerer crossed the stage behind the chairs, leaning in to whisper something into Ferdinand's ear. He was wearing a crown of holly and ivy that sparkled like rubies and emeralds. Although he paled for a moment, frowning beneath the bristles of his moustache, smoothing his stunning crimson gold robes.

The waltz finished with a flourish and the whirling dancers drew back as King Ferdinand stood, holding up his gloved hands. Over the years Ingary's only monarch had gone gray, although there were threads of brown still in his beard and moustache. But his age was beginning to show in the thinning of his powerful shoulders and the deeply etched lines that gathered in the corner of his eyes. They cut deep canyons through his face each time he smiled or scowled. His brown eyes remained fierce and vigilant, but it mattered little to the advance of time. Because King Ferdinand had never married. Never sired an heir. And worried twitters were beginning to surface with regard to the succession of the Ingarian Monarchy.

Although the murmurs of this crowd silenced as the guests turned towards the stage, drawing back from a group of red guards who cordoned off a section of the marble dance floor, making room for the Gods knew what. Among them stood Seran, Ryden, and Captain Peoter. And the King addressed the audience in a booming voice, commanding their attention.

"_Welcome!_ Welcome all! How wonderful to see the palace so full of delightful smiling faces from all over the land! Ingary welcomes you!" Genuine warmth went into his bright brown eyes as he swept a hand to the side, indicating the two empty chairs, "I have a special surprise tonight. We are about to welcome the Guests of Honor this evening."

Courtiers, Magi, and visitors all glanced around, taking stock of who was in attendance, trying to guess who the guests of honor could be. Great green growing things, were they in for a surprise!

"Never before have the Tri-Countries been so fortunate to share the company of such esteemed champions of the peace between us all. Without these People our world would not exist. So please do not be alarmed."

Worried glances went through the crowd at that statement.

"Black bloody bricks…" Calcifer let loose a nervous chittering pop, "Better brace yourselves!"

"_Join me!"_ Ferdinand boomed again like a cannon blast. Theresa spared a glance at Barimus, who stood at his King's shoulder, wondering if the sorcerer was magicking the man's voice, "Join me in welcoming the Prince of Stars and the Lady of the Wall!"

On perfect cue the ground in the space ringed by the Red Guard suddenly trembled. To their credit the Magi did not flinch or so much as indicate anything was amiss. Not even as several cries loosed from the crowds as the marble stone heaved, shattering and splintering as if cut by an invisible force. A kick of fear went through Theresa as she instinctively shrank from the trembling ground. But Markl caught her against him, his arm tightening around her waist, keeping them in place as the rest of the crowd drew back. Until they were the only ones standing in front of the doorway.

It could be like this with Markl.

He was so steeped in magic that you couldn't help but be touched.

For a moment it seemed like they were the only ones left in the world.

"It's okay," Markl murmured, hugging her close. And his amber eyes went alight with anticipation, a joyful smile on his lips. "You know, I never get tired of this?"

"Just be glad those red-shirts are seasoned," Calcifer crackled, making her jump, because she'd forgotten he was hanging in the air between them, "Otherwise the crowd's wouldn't be behaving quite so nicely."

Ryden looked more than a little nervous.

Although Peoter and Seran stood with an ease that was catching.

All the same, the audience gasped in awe as a pointed archway lifted out of the ground, complete with a hinged door and latch. Made of the very polished stone floor they stood upon. It swung open with a gravely crunch, letting the strange silent wind of the beyond come creeping through. Sending shivers skittering up Theresa's spine. Because there wasn't anything but indigo twilight inside the doorway. She'd looked into the Beyond several times. Mostly at the Castle. But it never ceased to freak her out.

That didn't keep her from starting forward. Her gold skirts whispering in the wind that tickle her ankles. Peering into the gloom as something brightened in the distance.

Growing closer.

Closer.

With a strangled shriek she threw herself backwards, falling against Markl as stars burst from the doorway in a cymabline crash. Twelve of them! Melting into every hue of the rainbow. Chasing each other playfully. Leaving curling shimmering streamers of iridescent sparkles in their wake. The crowds cried aloud again, erupting into laugher, cheers, and explosive applause as they as they gyrated through a complex series of aerials and acrobatics.

"_Well_… That wasn't part of the plan!" Calcifer spit toothily as he eyed the whirling stars circling the chandelier overhead.

All at once the stars slowed, joining their spindly hands as they began to sing, filling the dome with splinters of argent light and their swelling crystalline voices. Theresa's neck ached as she stared overhead and she didn't care in the slightest. She'd seen some things in her life time. But _nothing_ compared to this.

"What are they saying?" She breathed in amazement.

"Star-babble nonsense." The living flame crackled irritably, coming up short as his eyes went back to the still open doorway, "Oh… Here they come."

Suddenly there were people in the doorway. So tall they seemed to fill it to the very point. Theresa was probably one of the few people in the room who already knew them. There was no way to forget Nox. The Prince of Stars moved with slow liquid grace. As he came over the threshold into the mortal world the Beyond seemed to trailing behind him, as if loath to be left behind. But it was just his indigo cloak. And he turned aside, bowing as someone else filled the doorway.

Dierdrie hesitated on the threshold, reaching out a pale hand.

Nox took it, guiding her through.

Absolute silence struck the room as the Lady of the Wall emerged.

She wore a long dress of simple white. And it fell like a mist to her bare feet. But there was nothing simple about her. Because she was absolutely numinous in the falling sparkles. Starlight seemed to emanate from beneath her translucent skin, flickering off her long argent hair which fell to the floor and longer, dragging behind her like a train. The same light shone in her dazzlingly eerie sapphire eyes.

For a moment time seemed to still as Dierdrie looked right at Theresa.

Looked through her was more like it.

Because it felt like that strange wind had blown right through her soul.

And a line formed between her silver brows as something passed through her eyes. What it was Theresa couldn't tell. But something in her gut told her it wasn't good.

"_Sister!"_ Akarshan crowed ecstatically.

The little wizard pushed his way through the crowds, sprinting between Seran and Peoter as he reached for his twin. Dierdrie knelt with open arms, because she was much taller, much older than her twin. All the same, they hugged each other tightly.

And the stars overhead laughed happily as they fell like snowflakes. Lifting up into human forms, becoming pale silver headed children, barefoot and dressed in white. Nox and the Star Children started as the doorway crashed over backwards, fitting back into the fractured stone. Milling about in the place of its passing, they inspected the floor as though they'd never seen one before. Straightening, scratching his head in puzzlement, Nox laughed. The Star Children stared at him for a moment, and then laughed as well. But Shan wasn't laughing as he pulled away from Dierdrie, frowning at the fractured floor, lifting disapproving eyes to the Prince of Stars.

"You broke it. Now how are we s'pposed to dance?"

"Nothing broken that can't be fixed," Howl announced cheerfully as he and Sophie joined them on the floor.

The Wallmaker clapped his hands together, parting them in a smoothing motion. And the cracks melted together like ice filling a hole. Leaving the marble whole and unblemished. Turning, Nox waved at the conductor of the orchestra, who was half hiding behind his music stand. It too him a moment to pull himself and the other musicians back to attention. And they started up a lively waltz, breaking the silence, filling it with music.

With a bow, Nox turned to Sophie, reaching for her hand. Going pink in the cheeks the silver sorceress accepted as Howl turned to his daughter, bowing to match the Prince of Stars before whisking her off. And the Star Children scattered into the crowds, taking hold of any hands that could be caught. Drawing Magi, Country folk, and Courtier alike onto the dance floor as. One even clambered up onto the stage, catching up King Ferdinand's hand, insistently pulling him down the stairs to the floor. And the mustached monarch let loose another booming laugh as he happily followed. Joined shortly by Justin, Walden, and their wives.

Markl and Theresa stepped back from the whirling partners as more and more people joined in the dance.

But they didn't.

Markl didn't dance. He had absolutely _no_ rhythm. He'd nearly pulverized her feet one time at a summer fair when she'd insisted he at least try. She'd never do that again. Although that didn't do anything to stamp out the longing that started up in her chest, following them compelling rhythm of the music. All too soon she was tapping her toe in time. Swaying ever so slightly.

Theresa loved to dance.

But she stilled.

Crossed her arms with a resigned sigh, because no one would ask her to dance as long as she was standing next to Markl.

"Maybe Nalir will dance with you?" Markl offered absently.

"Nalir!?" Theresa went stock still, "Where?"

"Right there." He pointed, "Wow… Look at him go!"

It took Theresa a second to see him. Because for the first time she could recall he wasn't wearing black. Nor was he drowning in his usual floor length robes, looking like a monk in cassock! And his black eye was somehow gone. Magic probably. But it didn't matter.

Because Nalir was wearing the most amazing shade of burgundy red.

And a fire ignited the other half of her heart.

Nalir's long hair was drawn back into a tight plait, showing off his high forehead and handsome features. The ruby talismans at his ears glinted in the light, highlighting the healthy color in his cheeks. For once he didn't look like he was about to keel over. And his tunic was hip length, revealing he was all leg beneath his usual garb. The doublet was well tailored, fashionably slashed at the shoulder and chest to reveal his sun colored silk undershirt.

He had a dancer's frame and Gods he could dance!

So could his mother.

Merra positively floated in his arms. The hem of her plain black dress flared and whirled as the other dancers drew back. Making way to watch and marvel. She must have been the one to teach him. There was no other way to describe the instinctive unity of their beautiful movements. Although they were smiling, they looked anything but happy. There was something forced in the way they held one another. The way they seemed to battle one another for control. And her heart sank. Because as she watched them all the trouble's she'd forgotten for a moment came rushing back.

Unconsciously her hand went to her stomach.

And a stab of panic stole her breath.

"Hey… Hey!" Theresa jumped as Calcifer went zipping across the room, calling the Wallmaker's son after him, "Markl! _Markl_, help me!"

"N-no! Don't do that!" He dissolved from beside her, leaving her in a lurch as he pushed his way through the spectators, going after a Star Child who was waltzing a startled country-woman right off the floor.

Leaving her along on a quiet edge of the party.

She saw Barimus and Martha in the crowd. Her mistress was absolutely red in the face. Matching her husband's jacket. But Barimus was beaming. Good. The Herbalist needed a little fun for a change. Even Akarshan was getting in on the waltz. He had one of the Star Children by the hands. And from the look of his lips he was counting out loud. Behind them came Lettie and Alex. Funny that. The blonde Hatter was leading. And Theresa craned her neck. Trying to find Ryden, Peoter, or Seran. Although maybe not Ryden. He and Markl had done enough damage to her feet. But all were already spoken for. Even the Stone Man, who was lurching about in the arms of a pretty witch who didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

Frowning, she shrank back into the quiet shadows.

Feeling completely out of place.

Because everyone seemed to be dancing except for her.

"Well…" No mistaking that bitchy drawl, "Look who's all cleaned up."

Theresa hands tightened into fists as Hedera circled her from behind, looking her up and down with unveiled contempt. As usual, the witch was wearing fuchsia, positively bulging at the top. Magic was probably the only thing keeping her from popping out.

"Pretty dress, Twiggy. But you still got leaves in your hair."

Theresa flushed as she found a dried willow leaf stuck in a curl.

"You can wrap a mud-pie in silk. But it's still a mud-pie in spite of all its petticoats and jewels."

Hedera laughed maliciously, blocking her way as she tried to push by, tried to escape her taunting. Tears were burning her eyes. Because in a way she was right.

"Why, Hedera." The blond started bolt upright as Nalir made his way through the parting crowds, "Whatever are you doing over here?"

"Hello, Skinny-Nally." She smiled like acid. "Nice to see you breathing."

Without batting an eye the Mardan turned and pointed towards the cake, "As I was saying, the hors d'oeuvre are that way."

_"Cripple!"_ She hissed beneath her breath.

"Pig." He smiled a slow frosty smile, his green eyes glittering dangerously, "I can play this game all day, Hedera."

"Why're you defending her, all a sudden?" Her round face went pinched with angry confusion, "You used to hate her guts when we were younger."

"_Hate_ is a useless emotion, Hedera." His emerald eyes went piercingly as his thin lips drew into a grim line. And she took a step back. Genuine fear went through her pale blue eyes at the quiet intensity of his reply. "You'll find out soon enough… Perhaps you already have. Hence you're here. Alone. With nothing but _hate_ to keep yourself company. Horrible, isn't it? Being alone in a sea of people? Being so desperate for any kind of attention that you resort to tormenting others simply to be noticed."

Going pale and wide-eyed with misery, Hedera turned and fled.

Theresa watched the pink of her skirts dissolve. Finding herself trembling with outrage, struggling for word. Hedera was a bitch. But from the look on the blonde's face she could tell Nalir had just cut her to the quick.

"T-that was _cruel!_ That was… was _unnecessary!_"

"Was it?" He shot back contrarily, still looking after the witch, emanating cold, "It was the _truth_. And she needed to hear it."

"Did she!?" Theresa spat, glaring as he turned to her.

And she came up short. Because there was nothing cold in his eyes. If anything he looked more than contrite, his sadness tempered by sympathy.

"Sometimes we need a mirror held up to our faces before we can see what we've truly become."

She had a feeling he wasn't just talking about Hedera anymore. And all the anger drained out of her in an instant. Leaving her empty and confused.

"Why aren't you dancing?" She waved vaguely at the floor.

Nalir crossed his arms, turning his back to the dancers as he scowled at the floor, "Dancing with my mother is like playing chess. And I'd rather not play games right now."

Although his eyes lifted somewhat shyly, making their way to her face as he slowly drank in the rest of her. And her knees went week as the look crept into his jade eyes.

"You're beautiful." He whispered earnestly, using that lost tone he only used for her. "You look like a sunflower… No. You _are_ the sun. Flowers should look to _you_."

She couldn't remember the last time someone called her beautiful, let alone compared her to anything. And blood rushed into her cheeks as she dropped her eyes. Because her heart opened and poured all kinds of things into the churning mess that was circuiting inside her gut. Making her sick to her stomach with fear. He must have seen it. The worry. The fear.

Markl would have missed it.

_Damnnit_… Nalir was way too sharp sometimes.

And he held out one of his hands almost timidly,

"May… May we pretend like nothing's wrong? Just for this moment. Just for this night. Because I'm going to ask you to dance. Please say yes."

She didn't say yes.

But she did take his hand.

Wordlessly he turned, leading her out onto the edge of the dance floor. It was like standing on the street corners in Kingsbury while perambulator after perambulator steamed by in a honking churning mess. She couldn't fathom how they could possibly make their way into the ordered chaos. But here they paused. He put her other hand on the smooth velvet of his shoulder, stepping close as his other hand went to the curve of her waist. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric. And her chest was close enough to his that the quick tempo of his heart thrilled against hers.

"Do you know how this works?" He murmured slyly, making a spike of lust go spinning through her insides.

"Yeah," She lifted her chin challengingly, "I do."

Without another word he whirled them off into the milling press of bodies. And she panicked, loosing track of the music. But he had her, skillfully leading her through the steps until she regained her footing, figuratively and physically.

"Relax," He soothed, squeezing her hand, "You'll break my fingers."

"S-sorry," Theresa murmured as she eased her grip. Her face was absolutely burning. Because the other dancers were looking at them. So were some of the people on the sidelines.

"A-are there leaves in my hair!?" She hushed in mortification.

"No." His lips twitched, "I assure you there are no leaves in your hair. Why do you ask?"

"Because people are staring!"

"Good. Let them look." Gods, the look was back. His eyes were positively burning with it. "Let them see how beautiful you are. Let them see how smart and graceful you are. That's why they're looking. Smile, Theresa. Let them see."

Her feet didn't feel like they were on the ground anymore. And Nalir stood straighter, somehow managing to move with more grace that before, melting them though the waltz until everything blurred. Until together, they became the music. Nalir was smiling now. Absolutely beaming. Reminding her of Barimus. She'd never seen him so alive. Although the smile slowly turned to a smirk.

"What?"

"You drugged me."

She made a moue.

"Drugged's such an ugly word. I prefer clandestine therapy."

He snorted, and the smile was back, "I'll have to remember that one."

She lifted her chin, looking at his face. And his smile faltered as he noticed her scrutiny, "I like your hair back. Makes you look less like a girl."

He tried to frown and failed, "This from the woman who wears pants."

"I thought you liked pants?"

"I do." A hint of red touched his cheeks. "Under the right circumstances."

"Letch." She grinned.

"Oh, did you want Ryden?" He quipped playfully, steering her aside as he looked into the distance, "I think I see him!"

_"No!"_ She squealed. "He'll flatten my feet!"

And Nalir laughed outright. Free and unhindered as he whirled her across the floor. Just the sound of it sent her heart thrilling high in her chest. She went dizzy as it overwhelmed her, making her press closer against him and not just for stability. It wasn't a good idea. Not with so many people looking. But Nalir didn't stop her. Didn't draw back. Instead he leaned his head against hers.

But only for an instant.

She felt the moment when he noticed the ring beneath her glove.

Twitching it back and forth on her fingers.

"What's this?"

Theresa went stock still on the dance floor, making him skip on one foot to keep from crashing into her. But she was bumped from behind by another pair of dancers. And then another.

Snatching up her skirts, Theresa turned away.

And ran.


	7. Chapter 7

"Theresa!" Nalir called after her, _"Theresa, wait!"_

Bloody black bricks but she could run!

And he chased.

Abandoning decorum.

Ignoring the confused looks of the party-goers as he pushed between them.

They'd had but a moment to dance. One perfect moment. He should have been grateful for that much. Was it too much to ask of the Gods for one evening without trouble? After all they'd been through today, yesterday and the day before? Apparently so.

Because the anxious premonition was back.

Something was wrong.

Something about Theresa.

He felt it like a keen pressure between his eyes. It couldn't be ignored. It compelled him after her. So he chased. Off the dance floor. Away from the party. Out into the gardens. And into the laurel maze. Right to it's center. He lost her right around the corner from the court yard. The cough cinched down on his lungs, making him gasped for air, sending him to one knee as he choked and gasped. But he fought through the burn, staggering out into the center of the maze.

She was pacing back in forth in front of the fountain. A flash of gold among a sea of green. Barefoot. One of her shoes was in the shrubs along the wall. Sitting like an ivory dove perched on a branch. The other one was not to be seen. Probably kicked over the low wall. And his heart started up like an anxious bird beating its wings against a cage. Because she was crying. Wringing her gloves. She'd torn them off. Twisting the pair to knots between her hands_._

"Theresa?"

Coming to an abrupt stop, she sobbed angrily, pointing a finger right at him, sending him stock still. And he couldn't help but notice the emerald ring on her ring finger. The premonition thrilled again. Filling him with dread as the wheels began turning inside his head.

"_I can't decide!"_ She sobbed, tossing her gloves on the ground as she sank to her knees, making her skirts billow and sigh, _"I can't… I can't!"_

"Theresa!" His world narrowed to only her.

And he was gathering her up off the ground, sitting her on the edge of the fountain, stripping off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders. Because she was shaking. It was warmer in the solarium than the snowy outside, but there wasn't much of the dress up top to stave off the chill. Unfortunately she wouldn't let him hold her. Pushing him away as she cried harder. And as words failed her, she threw out her hand and pointed at the emerald. Gasping and trembling, she hissed between chattering teeth.

"H-he ask-ked m-me to _m-mmm_-_marry_ him!"

Nalir found himself on his knees. He'd been standing a moment prior. And now he was on the ground as though he'd forgotten his legs. Or maybe the ground had ceased to exist beneath his feet. He couldn't tell.

"C-congratulations." He whispered.

And he wanted to die.

Wished they'd left him buried in the oblivion beneath the snow.

Because he couldn't stand the pain that opened up inside him.

It was going to kill him.

_"I didn't say yes!"_ She grabbed a handful of his shirt, shaking him until he finally saw her face. And she was absolutely pissed. "He never really _asked_ me either! He just got down on one knee and gave me the ring. I told him I needed time to think... But… But he _made_ me keep it! I had to put _it_ on! Where else am I supposed to put it!?"

She slapped at her skirts in utter frustration. And Nalir stared for another moment. Uncomprehending. Until the hope shattered him. It hurt far worse than the pain of a moment prior. Worse than anything he'd ever felt. And he collapsed into her lap, burying his face in her sun-colored skirts.

Nalir finally understood what she'd been saying earlier.

He understood what she meant when she said she couldn't decide.

She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no, either.

Stalemate.

Nalir wanted to jump to his feet and shout out all of his brother's short-comings. Anything to sway her! Anything to keep her. But these were evil thoughts. Because he couldn't say anything at all. Not a single word. But something shifted. Something he'd almost missed. Something that made his insides still. Emptying him entirely as he straightened, still kneeling in front of her.

And the knowing hit him like a blow.

Kicking open a door inside his head as it came blundering inside.

Stomping about with its muddy boots.

And he knew.

His hands went to her stomach as he emptied of anything but the knowing.

"You're pregnant."

Theresa seized his arms so tightly her nails bit through his shirt. Her face had gone completely pale, wide green eyes utterly terrified. She was his mirror. Everything there reflected what he felt. And he couldn't help it. Couldn't stop the wheels from turning. Couldn't stop himself from thinking about what was best for her. He heard himself speaking aloud horrible things. But they had to be said.

"There's still time for it to be his."

She slapped him.

Hard.

Right across his cheek.

And he saw stars. In a way he deserved it. At least she didn't punch him again. It'd taken a great deal of illusory magic to hide his black eye. She reared back her hand to hit him again, but he yanked her against him, holding her tightly as she struggled and fought. Pushing and sobbing. But he held on to her. Dying all over again. Tears stung his eyes, falling against her neck. And she must have felt them. Because abruptly she stilled. And he continued in a whispered rush, desperately trying to hold her attention now that she was listening. Because the wheels were still turning. Grinding him into a bloody pulp.

"_Think_, Theresa! Just think for a moment! I can't offer you apple orchards! I can't offer you honey bees, or a quiet life of nothing but sunflower fields. Those are things I'll _never_ be able to give. You know what's in store for us. You see it _every_ day. I'll have to work _ever_ moment I'm awake. I'll be called away for weeks and months on end. We'll hardly see each other. I will _never_ be able to put you first. And that's _if_ we can make it through this madness!"

"Markl's a good man. The only man I could ever trust you to. Because I_ love _you!" Nalir choked on the strength of it, trembling as it filled him utterly, "And even though it _kills_ me, I will let you go if it means sparing _you_, sparing _our_ child, from _that_ madness."

And he was done.

Those were all the words he had left.

Mutely he let go. Sitting back on his heels. Waiting. Waited for her to hit him again. Waiting for her to get up and leave. Waiting for something. Anything. Because he had nothing left to guide him. He was lost.

But he didn't expect her to grab him by the shirt.

Didn't expect her to yank him back to her.

Didn't expect her to kiss him.

Then again she was always surprising him.

"You stupid, _stupid_, idiot!" She gasped as they finally came up for air, clinging to one another. "You're right, you bastard… I _do_ know what's in store. I know probably _better_ than you do! So why do you think for _one moment_ that I'd let you face it alone!?"

Nalir stared.

The look on her face was decisive even if her words were unclear.

But he couldn't believe just yet.

"But I'm an ass!" He sputtered, trying to call up all the reasons he could think of why she shouldn't pick him. "I'm rude! I'm stuck-up! I'm self-important, stubborn, and… and I think I'm always right! I'm horrible with kids! No one likes me! I'm not much of a Magi. I can't even fly! My mother's insane! And… And I don't like the color green! _Green_, Theresa!"

She crossed her arms, not at all moved by his laundry list of faults. "And who else is going to argue with you? Tell you you're wrong? And make you listen to sense?" She smoothed her fingers over his brow, trying to soothe away the deep lines he could feel furrowing his brow. "We're going to get through this. Together. And I'm not going to leave you. Ever. Got that?"

And he was staring again. "But… But I don't deserve you…"

She snorted, "I'll be the judge of that."

"H-hey!?"

They jolted apart as the Wallmaker's son appeared in one of the entrances to the center of the hedge maze. Markl's amber eyes darkened with confusion as they darted between them.

"S-somebody wanna tell me what's going on?"

Nalir went utterly still with panic. But Theresa was not so hindered. She handed back Nalir's jacket, standing, smoothing the front of her skirt. Then she twisted the ring off her finger. Holding it out as she came forward.

"I… I'm sorry..." She took his hand, pressing the ring back into his palm. "I can't marry you."

Still frozen, Nalir watched Markl stare at the ring in a daze. "Why?"

Theresa was twisting her skirt now and the iron calm she'd exhibited a moment prior was beginning to fail. "B-because I don't love you the way you think you love me."

Nalir's insides sank.

That was _way_ too complicated a thought for Markl to handle right now. His apprentice brother just stared uncomprehending as Theresa began chewing a curl, waiting for an understanding that would never come.

"Markl…" Nalir climbed to his feet. And the truth just came pouring out. It just couldn't be kept anymore. He motioned to Theresa helplessly. "Markl, I love her."

His apprentice brother started as though he'd been slapped. Casting his dumbfounded gaze between the two of them as he finally seemed to understand.

"You… and… and Theresa?" He backed up a step, shaking himself as if waking. "H-how long… Has this been going on!?"

"Since the crash." Theresa had her face in her hands, bending as if a weight was pressing down on her shoulders, "Before we got found."

Earnestly, Nalir tried to explain, "At first we weren't going to say anything because we thought it was only chance. It wasn't. It was more."

Unfortunately Mark wasn't listening. Nalir could already see the mulishness closing off his apprentice brother. Markl threw up a hand, stopping any other words he might have offered. And he crumbled, trembling with anger that lined and twisted his face.

"You… You've been telling me what to do. Telling me what to say. Spying on me! Listening in! Now… Now I understand _why_!"

"No!" Theresa cut in, "We didn't figure this out until now!"

Markl was glaring at her now. "_You_ should've told me!"

"You _never_ gave me the chance!" She shot back hotly, "You just _assumed!_ _Assumed_ everything was alright! _Assumed_ this was what I wanted. You _never_ talk to me, Markl! You couldn't even ask me to marry you properly. All you did was _give_ me a ring!"

"Do you think this is _easy_ for me!? I… I did the best I could!" He barked harshly, clenching his fists, "But I guess that wasn't _good_ enough for you, now was it!?"

Theresa sputtered. "This has nothing to do with who's better!"

"Obviously it does!" He threw out his hand, holding up the ring by way of explanation.

She went red to match her hair. "Don't make this about you! You always do that!"

"I do _not_!"

"You do _so_! You're being so… so _childish!"_

Nalir despaired as he watched the two of them hurl words back and forth.

Hurting each other more and more.

He'd done this so many times with his mother.

Once the words started they never seemed to stop.

Carving deeper the chasm that opened between them.

Until no bridge could ever reach across.

"Am I… _Am I!?"_ Markl choked, going hoarse with pain that seemed to overwhelm him utterly, "Well _excuse_ me for being _heartbroken_ by the fact that my best friend, the… the _only_ girl I've ever loved… _doesn't_ love me! Better yet, she's going with my brother _behind my back!_"

Theresa went absolutely rigid as each of his last words seemed to strike her right in the chest. Pale and trembling, tears dropped down her cheeks, she clutched at her heart as her head bowed.

"I _do_ love you, Markl… Just not the way you love me."

He stared for a moment.

Uncomprehending.

Then he howled.

Letting loose an enraged cry of agony, shaking his fists.

"_I don't understand you! You don't make ANY sense all! How can you love me and NOT love me!?"_

Theresa shrank from him as he went pitching around the courtyard.

"I think we all need to calm down." Nalir held up his hands, calmly stepping between them. Because people were going to hear if the shouting continued.

"_You stay out of this!_" Mark snarled, whirling on him, "This is _all_ your fault! You _betrayed_ me!"

An eerie wind crackled through the courtyard. Like static clinging to the dry air beneath a storm that had yet to break. He went absolutely pale with wrath. Nalir'd never seen Markl so angry. Never in his whole life. And the Mardan could feel his friend's magic gathering, called by his emotions, by the anger threatening his self-control. Unconsciously Nalir took a step in front of Theresa. Just in case.

"You are _not_ my brother!" The Wallmaker's son spat on the ground as he stabbed a finger at Nalir's chest. A shock leapt between them, like the pull of a lodestone. Sending a chill shudder rattling through his bones, "May you _**never**_ know the happiness that you've stolen from me!"

With that he turned on his heel and strode away.

The storm of his magic broke.

And not without leaving its mark.

But still, he took an unconscious step after his apprentice brother, until Theresa grabbed Nalir's elbow.

"N-no… Let him go. Anything we say now will just make things worse."

Frozen again, Nalir stared at the spot where Markl had disappeared.

Torn in two by the need to find his brother and beg forgiveness and the duty he had to remain at the party. Because in short time he would have to stand before three kings, his two masters, a sea of strangers, rivals, enemies or allies, and accept a burden that killed many of those who had carried it over the ages.

At the moment, inaction wasn't a luxury he could afford.

Something had been set in motion by this.

He could feel the distant cogs and wheels turning away.

But they withheld from him the reason for their furious work.

Like chess pieces moving on a board he could not see.

And Nalir couldn't tell what was worse.

Knowing. Or _not_ knowing at all.

"Are you alright?" Nalir turned his attention to Theresa.

"Dunno… That… did not go the way I'd hoped." She was still holding onto his arm, leaning on him heavily, looking where he had been staring a moment prior.

"It never does." He steadied her, producing a handkerchief from one of his sleeves. Her face a mess, make up smeared all over her tear streaked cheeks. But it didn't matter to him. She was beautiful. She would always be beautiful.

"Eh?" Theresa jumped, coming back to wherever she'd gone as he pressed the kerchief into her hand. Wordlessly she took it, turning away, dipping it into the fountain before scrubbing the powder and color from her cheeks and eyes until he could see her freckles again.

"I… I have to go back to the party," It was the last thing he wanted to do. But he forced himself to shrug back into his jacket, unbraiding his hair to smooth it down, "What will you do?"

"Here. Let me," She spun him around "I'm staying for your ceremony."

"You don't have to." He offered, trying not to fidget as she neatly re-braided his hair

"No, this is important. I want to stay. I want to be here for you."

A spark lit up in his heart at her words, giving him strength. Finishing with his hair she smoothed the shoulders off his jacket and her hands lingered. Theresa was leaning against him again. Her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.

"If they don't find out sooner, I'll tell Martha and Barimus tonight."

"I should be with you." Nalir's insides went cold as the prospect, but it was only right that he stand beside her.

"No," He had to work hard to curb the instant urge to argue with her. But there's been enough arguing for today, "Let me talk to them first."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah…" She smoothed his jacket again even though it did not need smoothing, "After seeing how Markl reacted, I wanna ease Barimus into this slowly. I don't want you anywhere near him 'til he's had a chance to get used to this."

He spun.

Catching her up in his arms.

Hugging her so tightly he heard her breath catch in her throat.

"Know that I want _you_." Nalir whispered, "I want you _both_."

Theresa melted, her hands knotted in the small of his back.

"I know."

He forced a smooth smile, drawing back, "You go back to the party. I will stay here a moment to collect my thoughts."

"O-okay," She was frowning at him, "You're okay, right?"

No.

He was far from alright.

But he wasn't about to tell her that.

"I just need a quiet moment to think."

She hesitated again, "It's going to be okay, Nalir."

"I know…" He smiled more convincingly this time, taking her hand to kiss it, "I have you. That's all I need."

With many a backward look, she finally left the courtyard.

And he took her spot on the lip of the fountain, sinking his head into his hands, fighting the crushing grief that surged through his insides.

Markl… Oh, poor, dear, Markl… Stars be with him.

Markl was not a simple man. A depth of feeling Nalir'd only caught in glimpses lurked beneath his candid demeanor. Nalir had known the truth would be painful, but he had not been prepared for how much it would hurt his brother. He had not been prepared for how much Markl loved Theresa. Nor did he realize how unprepared Markl had been to learn the feeling was not mutual. It wasn't the kind of thing for which one could prepare. The guilt and sorrow Nalir was feeling now could not compare to the anguish he'd seen in his brother's eyes.

Because Markl was right.

He'd been betrayed.

It was all Nalir's fault.

An anguished growl slipped between Nalir's teeth as he found himself further and further tangled in a mess of lies, subterfuge, and betrayal. Some Royal Sorcerer he was turning out to be. Already he'd proved himself unworthy of the honor and he'd not yet even been named heir! But panic pressed down on him like ice and snow as he conjured all the possible reactions his master could have for their news.

Would Barimus rescind his status as heir?

Worse yet, would he cast him out?

Exile him back to Marda?

The thought of loosing Theresa made him lightheaded with sorrow. Nalir had no idea what Barimus and Martha would say but he could say with absolute certainty that his mother would _not_ approve. And Yewin would have a field day with that. Yet another thorn the Magi could twist in his side, another wedge to drive between Nalir and Merra. And what of Theresa? What of their child? At once heart turned to a stone in his chest. Had he been standing it would have dragged him to his knees. Because Yewin would use them exactly as he used Merra: pawns to be play as he saw fit in his sadistic game of control. Yewin would hurt them in any way possible if it meant securing his obedience. Rage boiled in Nalir's chest, turning his insides molten with hate, sending magic crackling and seething in his veins.

He didn't care if it meant damning himself.

Didn't care it meant being banished, never seeing Theresa again.

He would gladly kill that fat bastard to save the ones he loved.

"Don't be sad."

Nalir started back as someone spoke, someone touched him.

A violent electric shock went jolting through the length of his body at the contact. It felt like nothing he'd ever experienced save the swallowing sensation of falling. And it was like he'd been thrown out into the sky all over again, tossed into a world of all encompassing bright. And he almost fell backward into the fountain. Because the Lady of the Wall before him, her hand still outstretched. Hunkered down on her bare feet like a child, hugging her knees as she turned her head to the side to peer at him with uncanny lapis eyes. Her long hair pooled all around her body like a river of luminous silver. He hadn't heard her come into the courtyard. For all he knew she just appeared.

Dierdrie smiled sadly. So very, very sadly.

And once again the knowing knocked down the door inside his head.

Terror sent his heart hammering its way out of his chest.

Because she knew. She knew _everything_.

"Don't be sad," Dierdrie repeated in a sweet voice overlaid by a choir of star children singing. "There's nothing you could've done differently. It's not your fault. But don't worry. They'll be okay."

A sinking feeling struck him in the heart. And he knew that she wasn't talking about what had just happened in the courtyard. Unfortunately she didn't explain. Didn't tell him what she _did_ mean.

"M-my Lady…" He fell off the lip of the fountain, scrambling into an awkward one-kneed bow, eyes fixed firmly on the springy moss between the flagstones. Because looking at her hurt. She was so bright. "I'm afraid I d-don't understand."

After a moment of silence he stole an anxious glance.

Sitting down hard as his back hit the fountain wall.

Because Dierdrie was gone.

Nalir stared at the place where she once stood. Because the moss between the pavers was growing before his very eyes. Flowering. Flourishing. Uncurling tiny green spindles of leafy green. And the black slate had transformed to translucent white.

As he stared at the spot Ryden came blundering into the courtyard, lead by the hand by one of the Star Children. The pale daemon pointed right at Nalir, smiling as the red shirt skidded to a stop. He flinched back as the child turned back into a star, whisking up into the air and heading back to the party.

"What the _hell_ are you doing out here, man!?" Ryden exclaimed as he stood over him frowning, "Do you know how long I've been looking for you!?"

All he could do was blurt out the truth.

Nalir was done with lies and half truths for the time being.

"I… I told Markl."

It took the Wizard Guard a moment to process that.

"Shit."

"Quite."

"Well," Ryden cross his arms with a sigh, "You're not a crater in the ground. That's something."

"He _cursed_ me, Ryden." It was hard not to shy from that fact. Nalir wasn't quite sure what it meant. But he could feel the mark upon him like a weight around his neck.

"W-what!" His friend paled. "H-how bad?"

"I don't know…"

"He'll take it back." Ryden assured him, "Markl's not the kind of guy to hold a grudge."

"I don't know about that… I don't know about anything anymore…" Nalir began at a loss, dropping his face back into his hands. "I don't know if I can do this… _Any_ of this…"

The Red grabbed him by the arm, hauling him to his feet, borrowing Peoter's favorite phrase, "You an' me been in _barrels_ of shite, little brother. Each time we got thru. This is just another barrel. Buck up an' get sloggin'."

"Ryden," Nalir grimaced, "A poet you are not."

"You're the one's s'pposed to be pretty with the words, Nally." He grinned rakishly, thumping Nalir on the back.

"Why're you being so nice to me? I thought you were mad at me?" Nalir steadied himself on his friend's arm, because his knees weren't quite working.

"I _am_ mad at you. At all of you daft fools. At least I was. Until I saw the look on Theresa's face when she came in with Markl. He was beaming like the sun. But she wasn't. Looked like she was dragging a lead weight or something." Ryden scratched his nose uncomfortably, "Really none of my business, but how long's she been unhappy?"

"A while."

"Hmph… Never noticed it till now."

"She is not the type to burden others with her trouble."

"Don't know anybody else like that, now do I?" Ryden retorted acerbically.

"Shut up, Ryden." Nalir smoothed his robes unconsciously, feeling a bit of heat creeping into his cheeks, "Although I'm glad we're back on speaking terms. I'm not quite sure I could do this without you."

"Quit the mushy stuff. It's not your style. I heard from a little bird what's on the menu for tonight's festivities. One day, and by the Wall I hope _no_ time soon, you'll be Royal Sorcerer. Probably about the same time I'll be captain of the Red Guard. That means from now on your britches are mine to look after. You an' me are stuck together. Now let's get your skinny butt back to the party. Lord Barimus can only stall for so long."

Wordlessly, he followed as Ryden pulled him towards the exit.

And Nalir's heart sank as they went.

***

The applause was deafening.

So were the red and gold fireworks that surprised everyone.

No doubt a last minute donation from Howl himself.

The Wallmaker did love fireworks.

In the chaos of celebration, Theresa's watched the stage. Nalir stood between Barimus and King Ferdinand. The two of them were pounding him on the back. As if the heavy ruby hanging around his neck wasn't abuse enough. It was ridiculously huge. Or perhaps Nalir was just that small. The Ingarian Arms were etched on its face. It was the mark of the Royal Sorcerer, or in this case, his heir.

And it was hard to feel glad about this.

Much like it was hard to be glad about being pregnant. At least not yet.

Neither were choices they'd made willingly, but choices for which they would have to take responsibility none-the less.

Theresa was no stranger to babies. She'd already helped raise a fleet of orphans in the Green Wing. But she couldn't imagine being nurse-maid to a King, three countries, and a squabbling batch of Magi.

Speaking of Magi…

Her eyes scanned the crowds. Finding a shock of green. Yewin was entrenched in a group of Mardan Magi. And the healer's attention was fixed with unnerving singularity on Nalir. But something wasn't right about his expression, something that chilled Theresa's insides. It was a far cry from the look on Barimus's face. There were no congratulations in Yewin's stare. It was as if the Green was seeing himself standing on the stage. Triumph etched his fat features.

Turning away with a shudder, Theresa's gaze went back to the crowds, easily picking out Merra. Tucked away into a dark corner far from the dance floor. She wasn't looking at the stage. Wasn't looking at Nalir. You'd think she was at a funeral rather than a party. Melting among the party-goers, Theresa kept one eye on Yewin as she made her way to Merra's table. Making the prim woman sit up in surprise as without explanation she unceremoniously pulled back a chair and ducked under the table, hiding under the table cloth.

"Is he watching you?" She murmured from under the red linen.

"Yes." Merra didn't hesitate a second. Smarts were something else Nalir must have gotten from his mother. "Although it may not seem like it."

"Did he see me?"

"No. I'm quite sure of it." She talked just like Nalir. Formal and stiff as the black lace at her neck.

"I need some of you blood to find an antidote."

She was quiet for a moment. Then replied with weary finality. "There is no antidote. Else I would not be here."

Theresa swallowed an aggravated sigh, "Merra, I'm a Green. If there's a way, I'll find it. Do you have something sharp to stick yourself on?"

After a moment the water witch passed one of the napkins under the table. It was folded. Camouflaging the blot of bright red that soaked into the linen fibers. Theresa hiked up her skirts and stuffed it into her closet pocket. Once again thanking whoever decided to put pockets in bloomers.

"I want it clear that I had nothing to do with the incident." There was nothing apologetic in Merra's tone, but Theresa had the feeling it was an apology none-the-less.

Incident. That was Ingarian official-ese for _crash_.

The word alone made Theresa's blood boil.

"I know." She grated between her teeth, "Otherwise I wouldn't be helping you. Tell me when it's clear."

"Not yet." She added casually and then continued. "At least now you have proof. But do not count on my word if you plan on taking him to trial. I'll be dead before I could testify."

"No you won't." Theresa countered grimly, "Not if I can help it."

She snorted pessimistically, making it clear without words that she had no confidence at all in the possibility of a cure. It took a great deal of Theresa's self control not to reach over and pinch the ungrateful Magi, especially after her next statement.

"I saw you dancing with my son. I do not approve."

"Oh, yeah?" Theresa simmered from under the table, "Well I saw you dancing with Nalir, too. And I don't approve of _you_ either."

"_Do not think for one minute I enjoy this!"_ Merra had gone perfectly still, her once cool voice fraying with bleak despair. "He _made_ me come here tonight. _Forced_ me to make Nalir dance. It is how he keeps us at odds. By making us hurt each other. And every day I drink _another_ sip of my death knowing that as I weaken Nalir will bow to that fat bastard's mercy for my sake. You're just a silly little_ country_ girl. I have already done _all_ I can think of! So what make you think you can do any better?"

Merra was trembling now, despair eroding her frosty exterior.

Theresa cringed from the woman's misery.

Flinched from the horrors she was enduring.

"You must excuse my _lack_ of enthusiasm on this most _splendid_ of evenings! Because this is entirely my fault." Merra hissed so low Theresa barely heard her. And her heart squeezed painfully because she sounded just like Nalir. "I would gladly die to save him from this. Spare him from that _snake's_ manipulations. I've _tried_… But _he_ won't let me!"

There was a long pause.

Because there was nothing Theresa could say to that.

All too quickly Merra resumed her frosty superiority.

"You are clear. Leave."

Theresa clambered out from under the table, skirting the back wall as she fled the ballroom. Once she was in the hallways beyond the party-goers. She ran.

Ran up the stairs to Martha's office.

Ran through the portal back to their house.

Ran down the stairs to the work room, hoisting her skirts so she could tear the napkin from her pocket and press a tell strip directly to the still damp cloth. Dilution never worked. The words were too watery to read. Pinning the strip beneath the magnifying, she scribbled the components as they resolved, only then realizing that someone had moved things in her absence. The reference tome was back on the shelf. And the other TellSlips were gone. After a frozen moment of panic, Theresa yanked open all the drawers, looking on the floor and beneath the tables. Until someone spoke.

"I have them." Martha called softly from the top of the stairs.

Theresa started up from the stool.

It fell over with a tinny clang.

The Herbalist came down into the workshop looking like she'd come straight from the Ball. There was fake snow on her shoulders. But as she came around the work desk, Theresa's foster mother surprised her with a fierce hug.

"Y-you looked at them?!" Theresa couldn't help but be a little angry.

"You left twelve. I was curious." Martha drew back, completely unabashed and utterly glowing with excitement.

Relief flooded part of Theresa, because Martha hadn't seen Theodrick's slip. But the rest of her was buzzing with terror.

"How far are you?" The Herbalist squeezed her hands and Theresa couldn't help but go pink in the cheeks.

"I… uh… I just missed my period."

Theresa was stunned.

Martha was taking this far too well.

But then again, she did have a thing about babies.

Children were something she'd never be able to have and something she'd always wanted. She went all pink in the cheeks every time she went into the nursery. But she never smiled. Only Theresa knew why. The Herbalist had been injured in an attempt on her life a long time ago. At the time she was pregnant. The resulting miscarriage stole from her the ability to ever conceive again. And Theresa shied from that terrible bit of history.

"Aren't… Aren't you mad?"

"Why would I be?" She was _gushing_ by Martha standards, vibrating with happiness "I don't mind you didn't wait to get married. Markl will be a _wonderful_ father."

Theresa took back her hands.

Turning away as the floor seemed to tip.

Dissolving into a shower of gray sparklers.

Martha caught her arms, leading her to a seat.

Taking her pulse. Putting a cold hand to her forehead.

All the while frowning with worry.

"Martha…" Theresa whispered. "Markl's not the father."

The Herbalist fell perfectly still.

And Theresa kept her eyes firmly fixed on her shoeless feet.

The stockings were ruined.

Her big toe poked out of a hole in the silk the size of an Ingarian Royal.

"N-not Markl?"

Her mistress sounded dazed. Just like her nephew. The parallel robbed Theresa of the courage to speak. But she didn't need to. Martha worked it out herself. And her face drained of all color, green eyes burning with rage as she towered up, filling the whole room. Striding about with hands pressed to her temples as if her head were about to burst. Standing, Theresa tried to counter Martha's flinty silence, tried to explain.

"Nalir loves me!"

Unfortunately, her mistress had a stubborn streak, just like Markl. And she was far from ready to listen. Martha whirled, looking like she'd just come from a particularly difficult Tri-Council meeting.

"Then why isn't there a ring on your finger!?"

"You… You said you didn't care about that!"

"If it was _Markl's!_"

"Y-you were singing Nalir's praises last night!"

"_This_ changes everything!" Martha snapped back furiously.

"No it doesn't!" Theresa shot back just as hotly, "How can you be so hypocritical!"

Her mistress sputtered, so mad she could hardly speak, her skirts kicking up a wind as she swept around the room shaking her fists.

"Because he's _Mardan!"_

Theresa was stunned. Bigotry was not something she expected from the Herbalist. But in a way it explained why she hated Yewin so much. Her mistress' in explicable dislike for the Green Magi never made sense.

"_So!?" _She snarled back,"So am I!"

"No. You're nothing like _them_." Martha was back to pacing, pulling now at her graying hair. But as suddenly as the rage had taken her, she stilled. Anger dissolved. And something dawned on her like the contents of a cold bucket of water. She slapped a hand over her mouth, green eyes aghast.

"Oh, Gods… Why didn't I see this? Yewin's wheedling to get you on the airship… Nalir saved you from the crash... And now _this_! It's too much of a coincidence!"

Theresa shrank from Martha's logic. Because to someone who didn't know the things she knew, it made sense. Worse than that, it sounded feasible.

"Tell me you're not implying Nalir had anything to do with the crash!"

Martha's green eyes went obdurate, turning to stone, "He asks too many questions and carries too much guilt for a survivor."

"You have _no_ idea what you're talking about!"

"_You're the one who has_ no idea what you're talking about! Once I stood _exactly_ where you're standing! And I _refuse_ to see you _used _to further their scheming!"

It was Theresa's turn to go livid and choke on her words, "Nalir would _never_ use me! He would _never_ betray Barimus!

"_Shut up and listen you silly girl!_" Martha snarled. Shocking Theresa into silence as her tone turned chillingly superior.

"Wouldn't he? For the past six years all he and that _conniving _family of his have been working to this moment. I thought perhaps he was different, but I see I was wrong. Don't you understand!? He has _everything_ to offer the Council that they could require of the Royal Sorcerer. The fact that you're with child, _his_ child, seals the bargain! It wouldn't take much to sway them now. Too many of the Magi are displeased with the balance of power in the Tri-Council. Too many would be more than pleased to see Barimus go. "

Picking up the closet thing she could find, Theresa hurled it at the stone wall. It shattered between them. Revealing whatever it had been was made of glass. But she couldn't see anything. Tears of outrage blinded her entirely.

"_Do you really think I could love someone capable of that!?" _Theresa screamed at the top of her lungs. "_Don't you trust me at all!?"_

Silence stretched between them. And when Martha spoke she had gone quiet with patronizing sweetness.

"Oh, child… How your pride blinds you. You _despise_ Nalir! Sweetling, you _chased_ him with a garden hoe! You may think this is love, but it's not. Lust is deceiving thing. You're too young to understand what a grave mistake you're making! Too young to understand what's really happening. But we can fix this, sweetling. There's still time."

Not for the first time she shrank from her mistress.

From the woman she had grown to think of as her mother.

What she was suggesting was unthinkable.

And the person standing before her became a stranger.

Her home became an alien place.

Suddenly she felt utterly unwelcome.

A strange spoke from her lips as well.

Cold with hate. Distant with fury.

"After everything we've been through… If you won't trust me… I you won't believe what I'm telling you now… Then why the _hell_ should listen to you?"

With trembling hands she unclasped the emeralds around her neck, pulling the heavy drops from her ears. Theresa put them on the table between them.

"I'm not your apprentice anymore. I'm not your daughter either."

Hastily she folded the TellSlip into the blood stained napkin, gathering it onto what little notes she made. Martha was standing like a stone obelisk in the middle of her path. But Theresa was flexible enough to know how to go around. Slipping by, pounding up the stairs she went straight to the front door, turning the dial to red. No one was in Barimus' Office as she yanked open the door.

"_Theresa!"_ Martha cried from behind her.

But the freckle-faced woman slammed the door in her face.

Bursting out into the hallway, Theresa fought through a blind of tears, storming through the hallways. Winding herself silly until she was sure she wasn't being followed. And then she went looking for a red shirt, succeeding after what felt like ages of wandering. She caught the capable looking woman by the arm, yanking her around.

"Ma'am?" The Guard looked more than surprised, going red in the face.

"I need you to take a message to Nalir." She gasped, trying to hold herself together, "Tell him to find Theresa as soon as possible."

The Wizard Guard saluted, "Yes, Lady Theresa."

She blinked, stymied as the woman strode off with purpose. Not used to the fact that the majority of the Reds knew her by name. But then again, she was picking up after Peoter so much he called her his honorary Red.

Dashing at the tears that were suddenly streaming down her cheeks, Theresa blundered through the back halls until she found her way to Nalir's apartment. The door popped open when she touched the handle. It hadn't done that before. Throwing her things onto the coffee table, she stormed into the bedroom and threw herself onto the coverlet.

Sobbing herself silly.

Before in utter exhaustion.

She fell asleep.

And when she woke it was to the sound of music.

Sitting up in the dark, she found herself covered by a blanket. And sliver of light crept beneath the closed door. On its back spilled a muffled river of dulcimer music. Sliding out of bed, Theresa pushed through a crack in the door, coming out into the adjoining room.

Nalir was sitting at the golden harp.

Gone were his party clothes. He had on a plain black shirt and pants. But his hair remained pulled back into a braid. So she could see that the happy flush that once set his features alive had gone as well. Pale with concentration, his hands flew gracefully across the golden strings. And his jade eyes were miles away. She could only imagine the things going on inside his head. Because hanging from one of the wall scones behind him was that fat chunk of ruby.

Closing her eyes she listened to the waves of beautiful music.

The crystalline chords reminded her of star singing.

It calmed her in a way she hadn't thought possible.

"That's pretty."

Strumming a sour note as he jolted, Nalir abruptly silenced the strings. Although he took one look at her face and went stock still.

"I didn't mean to wake you..."

"S'okay…" She avoided his gaze, folding up into the corner of the couch nearest him, "Keeping playing? It's nice."

Nalir remained at the harp, but didn't play. His green eyes stayed fixed on her. "I came as soon as I could. But you were asleep. Parda didn't say anything other than that I should find you. And I didn't want to wake you…" He went quiet. And she could feel the weight of his gaze. Just like she could feel the burn of the tears that threatened to fall again, "W-what happened?"

"I told Martha. It didn't go too well."

That was putting it mildly. But things still felt so very far away. Like it was all a bad dream. But it wasn't a dream. Far from it.

"I… I b-broke my apprenticeship."

"W-what?" Nalir was shocked. He clambered out from under the instrument, coming to sit beside her, "Why!?"

Theresa couldn't repeat some of what was actually said. It hurt too much. And Nalir flinched as she let loose a furious cry, reaching back to tear at the lacing of the dress, yanking them into a tangled mess. Because she couldn't breath. And she turned all her hate on the flouncy thing, venting on it all the pain that burned her insides, trying to tear it off. But she failed. It was stronger than it looked. Frustrated beyond coherence, words came pouring out of Theresa as she struggled.

"_Because she's a short-sighted bigot! Because doesn't know what the HELL she's talking about!"_ Lurching to her feet, Theresa pulled with all her might, rewarded as something popped and ripped, _"Get this thing off me, Nalir!"_

"Hold still," He murmured soothingly. Part of her envied him his calm. The other half was frightened by it. And she stilled as his hands worked at her back while she snuffled and choked. But after a moment he gave up. "They're too tangled. They'll have to be cut."

"You can cut this thing to shreds for all I care just so long as it comes off!" Theresa resisted the urge to stamp her feet, "I'll _never_ wear it again!"

"Don't say that." He kissed her shoulder lightly before going in his bedroom, making the anger dissolve in an instant. And she heard him from the other room, "You look so very beautiful in gold."

Her insides milled with confusion until he returned with a long black shirt and a pair of scissors, handing her the latter as he returned to her back. The blades snicked through the cords and the dress fell right off, pooling at her feet. Heat burned up into her cheeks as she suddenly became very naked.

"Oh!" Nalir stammered shyly, throwing his eyes away. "I d-didn't know it would do that."

"Goose… What'd you think would happen?"

She couldn't help the weak smile quirking her lips as she kicked the dress and corset aside, rolling down the stockings and garters before shaking out the shirt. Theresa caught him peeking. And she was about to tease him for it until his eyes fell on something she'd forgotten was there.

"Theresa... Where did these come from?"

She winced as he touched one of the burns on her back she earned while climbing among the hot water pipes in the Green Wing walls. The Cesari maids hadn't said a thing about the ones on her hands either. Lucky that gloves were in style. And she yanked the shirt over her head before he could see the burns on her thighs.

"None of your business." She muttered.

But he grabbed her, turning her around until his face was inches from hers. And a shock went through her at the contact. Magic. She recognized the eerie nibbling tingle. But something followed in its footsteps, like a cold wind whisked through her insides. She watched as his emerald eyes widened with the horror of knowledge. It was the same bewildered expression that crossed his face earlier when he'd spread his hands across the flat of her stomach and spoke aloud things he could not know.

"Y-you went to the Green Wing!" He grew hushed with shock as his piercing gaze intensified, "Oh, Gods… Theresa he would have _killed_ you!" But his hands tightened on her arms as he continued to see. His brow knotted up with consternation as what Merra and Martha said flitted through the back of her mind, replaying, plucked from her memory like some awful stage drama.

"_G-get out of my head!"_ Theresa thundered, shoving him back so hard he stumbled on the couch and landed on the carpet

"_I… I'm sorry!"_ Still prostrate, he held out his hands placating, "I… I couldn't help it! Y-you were thinking it so loudly!"

"Don't you _dare_ invade my privacy again, got it!?"

He flinched back as she towered over him with clenched fists, absolutely red with shame. "I'll t-try! I… I'm still new at this."

"You better!" She plunked down on the couch, hugging her knees.

Rubbing a bruised elbow, Nalir sat up, still frowning at her, albeit a bit timidly. "Theresa, please… I don't want to fight… But you can't go back to the Green Wing! Not with him watching! Theodrick's body may be gone, but he'll be even more on his guard now that he knows something is amiss."

"TellSlips don't last forever." She stabbed a finger at the red linen napkin folded on the table. "The words fade within a day as the compounds break down. I've wasted too much time already. I _need_ the books and equipment in the work rooms to find an antidote and _soon!"_

Nalir stared, uncomprehending. The look was a stab to the heart. And she resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder. Because he looked just like Markl.

"You'd really help my mother? After everything she said?"

"I took an oath, Nalir!" She sighed in exasperation, "Merra's a sad silly woman so lost in her own suffering that she doesn't know what's up or down anymore. I don't take any of what she said personally. And I won't leave her with that monster a moment longer than is necessary!"

He stared up at her as iron resolve fixed his fine features.

"Marry me, Theresa."

Great, green, growing things! _Twice_ in one bloody day!?

But the look came on him like a storm. Going incandescent in his eyes from where he was still sprawled on the rug like a hapless overturned black beetle. He looked ridiculous there. But still she went weak in the knees beneath the strength of the emotion that drew the pieces of her heart back together, stitching it whole. It took every ounce of her will power not to kick him. And just a little more for her to tell him no.

"No."

He started as confusion punched him in the face, "W-why not!?"

"Goose!" Her hands went right to her hips as she bent over him with a frown. But the look in her eyes was anything but stern, "I'll marry you when no one can doubt our reasons! I'll marry you when no one can say it's political! I don't give a damn what Martha says! I don't need to get married to please anyone! And I don't need a ring on my finger to believe you love me! So I'll marry you when I damn-well feel like it, _got that!?_"

"Y-yes, ma'am." He cowed, but still looked a little disappointed. Although his lips were quirking as he sat up. And his eyes went right to the red napkin.

"Can I see it?"

"Why?"

"You said it fades. Maybe there's something I can do to preserve it."

Plucking up the cloth, she unfolded it, revealing the tiny slip of white paper. Hew frowned down at it.

"By the Stars, it's tiny. No wonder so many Greens wear glasses. How can you read this?!"

"We use amplification glasses. That's part of the reason I need to go to the labs. We have one at the house, but…" Theresa cut off, remembering how she'd parted from Martha.

There was no way she was going back there.

Not if she could help it.

Turning her thoughts away, she watched Nalir inspect the bit of paper with the same interest a stamp collector might regard and unusual hallmark. It was a very Howl-like expression. Sometimes Theresa forgot that the Wallmaker was also Nalir's teacher.

"May I make it larger?"

"Huh?" Theresa blinked.

"It won't damage the fundamentals of the original charm since they've already been activated. All it'll do is stretch them bigger."

"C-can you do that?" She was amazed.

"Of course. Enlargement is a simply spell, especially in this case." He motioned to the slip, "May I?"

"S-sure. But we need to keep it clean. It contaminates easily."

"I can fix that too." Nalir stood, clearing the table, "I'll bind the slip so it won't fade."

Wiping down a writing slate with a dab of rubbing alcohol, the Magi carefully positioned the TellSlip in the middle of the stone with a tweezers. Peering over his shoulder, she watched as he posited his hands around the bit of paper, making a square out of his overlapping thumbs and index fingers. Theresa started as an increasingly familiar nibble tickled its way across her skin. Nalir's eyes flashed with eerie internal light as his face set with an expression of perfect concentration.

He drew his hands apart and a shiver surged up her spine.

Because the slip followed. Stretching. Growing larger.

And larger. Until it was the size of the slate.

As big as a sheet of writing paper.

Big enough she could easily read the multi-colored words.

Again Theresa jumped as Nalir snapped his fingers. She squeaked, shrinking back as the stone surface jumped, jolting the whole table. And the page lifted up into the air, revealing the imprint it had left in embossed words on the surface of the writing slate. Set in stone. Nalir let out a gusty breath, sinking back against the lip of the couch. There was sweat beaded on his pale face, evidence of the immense exertion magic required. Theresa stared between him and the slate of stone.

"Sometimes I envy you Magi. Sometimes times I don't."

"It gets easier as you get older." He murmured faintly, "Would you please get me a glass of water, dear one?"

Her cheeks burned red at the bare affection in his voice. And she fetched him a glass of water, sitting beside him, putting it into his hands. She almost dropped it as a spark passed between their fingers.

"Ouch!" She shook her hand, "You shocked me!"

Nalir was looking at her askance, staring with a strange unreadable expression. Taking a sip of water, he put the glass on the edge of the table. She frowned as his hands shook.

"That wasn't a shock." He explained softly, "It was magic."

"But… But I'm not… I haven't got a _stitch_ of magic in me!"

"That doesn't matter. It happened because of the baby." Nalir was red in the face again, "Do you know how rare it is for Magi to conceive?"

"N-no… I didn't know it was a problem."

"Think about it. How many Magi do you know who have a whole horde of children? I've seen country folk with upwards of twelve. Most Magi have only one, if any."

"Your right…" Theresa ran through all the Magi couples she knew. Hardly any had children. Suddenly the Council's obsession with producing an heir made sense. "But… But I'm a country woman. D-does that make a difference?"

"Apparently not…" His voice gentled and he was staring at her stomach, his hand hovering between them, "May I?"

"S-sure…" She whispered.

Her heart was beating a million miles a minute, because they hadn't had much of a chance to talk about this. He shocked her again as his hand spread over her stomach, sending that same nibbling shudder uncurling through her body. As she covered it with hers, Nalir jolted, making her jump too. But he turned towards her, putting both his hands on her belly as his eyes went bright and far away. So very far away as a thrill of magic swelled between them. Welling up out of Nalir like a spring until he was saturated with it.

"What?" She demanded, grabbing his arms, resisting the urge to shake him, "What!?"

The look was in his eyes as they lifted to hers. It overtook her complete as the most brilliant beautiful smile spread across his face, lighting him of fire with love.

"It's a boy!"

Theresa went utterly still, so overwhelmed she could barely speak.

"H-how do you know?"

"I… I _see_ him!" He laughed aloud, startling her. And the sound sang in her heart, vibrating through her very being. "Blessed stars! The poor thing has your hair. There are even leaves in it! He's beautiful!"

His smile widened still, glowing with pride, even though his eyes were far again, so very far away. Seeing something she couldn't see, no matter how she ached to share his vision. But she would see eventually. Eventually.

"Everything's going to be alright, Theresa!" Nalir hushed with joy that was catching. And he yanked her into his arms. "I see _sunflowers!_ Fields and fields of golden sunflowers!"

"We… We should name him Caedir." She blurted impulsively, hugging him tightly. "A-after your father. I think Merra would like that."

Nalir didn't argue. Nor did he agree.

He kissed her.

Kissed until her head swam with visions of gold.

But then he stopped. Going absolutely still. With sinking sadness Theresa opened her eyes and watched as that same horrible knowing dawned on Nalir. It stole from him all the happiness that was there a moment prior. He turned angry eyes to the door, his lips drawing into a thin grim line. Seconds later an urgent knock pounded on the other side, rattling it to its hinges.

"W-who is it?" She breathed in dismay.

"Ryden," Nalir whispered as his hugged her close.

"I know you're in there!" The Red called hotly, "I'm trying to be polite!"

Nalir stood, helping her up as he strode over and snatched up his long black robe, hooking them on over his shirt, pulling the fat ruby from the wall, ducking his head through the heavy chain. And his shoulders sagged as if it weighed a hundred stone.

"What's going on?" Theresa demanded, growing angrier by the second as he darted into the bedroom, returning with a pair of boots. "Answer me, Nalir!"

"Howl finally got something out of the unexploded bomb. The Reds have the culprit in custody."

Theresa sat down as her knees stopped working beneath the weight of hope that dumped on her from above.

"Please tell me it's Yewin…"

"No." Nalir scowled as he yanked the shoe-lacing tight, "Someone else."

Good thing she was already sitting. "W-what? W-who!?"

"I don't know!" He barked furiously, "But I'll be _damned_ if I let that fat bastard send an _innocent_ man to the gallows!"


	8. Chapter 8

They were arguing.

Ryden could hear their raised voices but he couldn't make out any words.

Damn the savvy bastard.

Of course Nalir'd have muffling charms all over the hall.

He could spy on the rest of them but Stars forbid anyone listen in on him!

Ryden started back from the door to Nalir's apartment as the wizard in question stormed out into the hallway. But not before the he saw over the short guy's head. Saw Theresa sitting on the couch looking pale as milk in one of the skinny jerk's black shirts. A pile of gold spilled across the floor beyond the couch. No mistaking the dress she'd been wearing earlier. Gods she looked gorgeous in that thing! But a flare of anger started up in the Guard's chest. Duty be damned! If Nalir ever did _anything_ to hurt Theresa he'd be first in line to dole out black eyes and worse. Right behind him, waiting their turns, would be Peoter, Seran, and the rest of the Red Guard!

"_Hey! Hey!?"_ Ryden called as he chased the slip of black down the hall, easily catching up, "Where do you think you're going!?"

"I want to see him!" Nalir all but snarled.

"_Bloody black bricks,_ what _don't_ you know!?"

"A lot… Like where he's being held."

"Cool it hot stuff! I'm not taking you anywhere but Barimus's office."

Ryden came to a stand-still in the middle of the hallway. It was the middle of the night. It was completely empty thanks to the festivities. But the party was far from over. It had spread beyond the gardens, including the Red Hall where the rest of the Guard was waking Theodrick. Unfortunately he hadn't been able to join the festivities. But there was plenty of time to get drunk later.

"W-what!?" The little fellow came up short a few steps beyond him.

"Sorry, man. He wants to see you. Now."

"S-shit!"

"Quite." Ryden smirked, handing back one of Nalir's favorites, enjoying watching the skinny guy sweat. Whatever color there was in his friend's face drained away, leaving him white as a ghost. Good. That was for the look he'd left on Theresa's face as he left their apartment.

There was something else to get used to.

_Their_ apartment.

Theresa and Nalir's.

He felt bad for Markl, but begrudgingly Ryden had to admit the other two looked good together, especially after catching a glimpse of them dancing earlier. And for a moment they looked happy. Really happy. In a way it made more than a bit of sense. For almost as long as he'd known Nalir, the skinny pratt had been more than terrified of Theresa. That kind of healthy awe usually formed a basis for something more.

"Seriously, man, Master Barimus seemed real calm when he called in Peoter, Seran, an' me. I don't think he wants to see you 'bout _that_."

"Oh…"

Nalir sagged in relief. Putting a hand out to the wall to steady himself until Ryden strode by and yanked him along. Dragging him a ways until the future Royal Sorcerer snatched back his arm, straightening his robes as he fell in step. Practically running. At their current pace they made short time to Master Barimus' office. Ryden couldn't help but notice that Nalir had gone pale again.

"I'll be right outside, man." He clapped him on the shoulder, "Don't worry, it'll be fine."

"You're far too optimistic, Ryden."

"Try it sometime, little brother. It's surprising how well it works out."

"Don't call me _little_, you _ruddy_ bean-pole!" Nalir spat back.

"Whatever you say, _Lord_ Councilor!" He mocked, bowing low as he opened the door to the empty antechamber, "I'll wait here. Give a shout if he comes after you with a knife."

"Now who's being cynical?"

"Quit stalling and get your skinny butt in there."

***

As the door closed behind him Nalir came up short.

The smell of tobacco wafted through the dark empty office, sweeping under the double doors leading into Barimus' personal apartment. It was a leftover from his bachelor days. A handy place to crash between marathon Council Meetings. And a place Barimus could go when Martha went on a tear. It happened only a handful of times over the years. No marriage was perfect. And those were the only times Nalir could remember ever seeing his Master smoke, which also meant he was drinking too.

Foreboding gears slowly began turning in his head.

And he fought against the burn of the cough as it clenched his chest.

"Come!" Barimus called lightly as he knocked.

With a deep breath Nalir drew himself up and went in. There was a fire roaring in the hearth, staving off the chill from the snow falling swiftly beyond the leaded window pains. The blond sorcerer was slouched low in one of two red velvet armchairs on the wide rug at the foot of a four-poster bed. Once again the empty chair seemed aimed right at him. His master's feet were propped on the edge of a table piled high with books and other sundries.

Right in the middle.

Glimmering with refracted light.

Filled with hundreds if not thousands of tiny fractures.

Was Suliman's Orb.

Apparently there were some things even the Wallmaker couldn't fix.

Thick curls of sweet smoke lifted from the glowing end of a fat cigar in Barimus's hand. And a half full glass tipped in the other. A bottle stood open on the table, more than half gone. Tyranese 20 year from the smell of it.

Nalir's stomach lurched.

Not because of the memory of his first hang over.

But because of the utter weariness on Barimus' face.

The sadness that permeated his amber eyes, soaking through his entire being as he gazed in an open box on the table. It was bright blue. Regarding his Master, Nalir discovered that Ryden had been wrong. Barimus knew. Martha told him everything in the course of a quarrel that knew no bounds. But the knowing wasn't done with him yet. It punched holes in all his defenses as he tried to recoil from what he was seeing. Pouring into his head things he was not meant to know!

Things long dead now resurrected.

Hence the box on the table.

"Forgive me, Master Barimus!"

And he meant it in more ways than one.

But the Wallmaker's brother was more than a little in his cups, so it took him a moment to notice Nalir even as he fell to one knee in front of his chair, head bowed and trembling.

"Why so formal, my boy?" With a flick of his hand the box closed, folding up and disappearing. But it was too late. Nalir'd already seen through his Master's eyes. "You can call me _dad_ if you like."

Nalir flinched as Barimus chuckled frostily.

And he took a slow deep breath.

Trying to let the sting pass him by.

"I had a father once, sir. He died."

Barimus blinked, rousing as if from a dream, wincing as his foot slipped off the table edge. And he sobered, favoring his shins.

"I… I'm sorry, Nalir. I… I should not have said that. That was more than cruel. This… This has been a difficult evening for us both." He put his cup down, extinguishing the cigar before scrubbing his face, "How is she, by the way? Theresa, I mean."

"Angry. Sad. Confused. Same as the rest of us." Nalir sat back on his heels, "Forgive me, Master. I… I should have told you sooner. B-but I did not know there was anything to tell until this evening."

"Stop apologizing, Nalir." He sighed sadly, casting about for something but came up empty handed, "It was bad timing. Bad luck. Bad fortune. Whatever you wish to call it. But not something anyone can be faulted for."

Nalir lifted his eyes, gazing askance at his teacher, "You're taking this too well, Master Barimus…"

"Martha took all the fight out of me," He chuckled sadly, letting out the same sardonic sigh. "Let's just say I am not as naïve in these matters as some."

Sparing a glance at the fractured orb, Nalir worked up enough courage to ask, "Is… Is Markl alright?"

"Howl hasn't seen him since the party. Neither has anyone else. They tried looking for him. But I'm afraid Markl doesn't want to be found right now." Barimus looked out the window as the swirling snow, "Don't worry. He'll turn up eventually."

"I… I never meant to hurt him!" Nalir began at a loss, "He's my friend! My _brother_!"

"I know." The Royal Sorcerer's put a hand to his temple as distant pain etched his face, "Sometimes fate is cruel to us."

"I… I do _love_ her, sir! I offered to marry her but she said no! This is not a ploy or a trick, or a… a…"

"Calm down, dear boy!" Barimus threw up a hand, "Contrary to what my wife believes, I do not think you have anything but sincere affection for Theresa. Anyone who watched you two dancing this evening cannot think otherwise. Nor do I believe you plan to poison me and lead a coup in the Magi Council."

A shock of bewildering presentiment went spidering up Nalir's spine.

And a grim smile pulled the corners of his Barimus' lips.

But he was doing anything but smiling.

"I do not apologize for my wife. But you must understand that Martha loves Theresa _too_ much for her own good. I cannot fault her in that, but I cannot abide by the way she keeps the girl closeted up in order to keep her safe. She only does this because she's afraid. Afraid of loosing her as she has lost in the past. You must understand that Martha has endured more than anyone can be asked to endure because of _my_ position! She is afraid Theresa will have to go through the same. She is desperate to spare her from that. And again, I cannot fault her."

"On my word, sir!" Nalir began in earnest, "On my very _life_. You know I will do _all_ I can to keep her safe!"

"I have no doubt in that, my boy. None what-so-ever. But you must also understand that hers is a free spirit. She _must_ fly. You cannot clip her wings and keep her on the ground for fear she might fall from the sky. She will not let you. This is what Martha fails to see. This is why she suffers. And to a certain degree I think this is where Markl went wrong as well. But you? By the Wall, you're just as willful as Theresa! Heaven help you both!"

He let loose another long suffering sigh. Scrubbing at his face.

"Forgive me… I'm not sure what I'm saying… I'm a little drunk and rambling because of it. But I do wish you'd get up off the floor. There's a perfectly good chair right there."

Climbing up to perch on the edge of the seat, Nalir politely refused the glass Barimus offered him. Hovering anxiously. Until he was practically vibrating with waiting. They were wasting time.

"S-sir? If you didn't call me here to send me into exile, may I inquire as to why you called?"

"Indulge me in a few more moments of quiet company, Nalir. I do so miss your quiet. You one of the only Magi I know who can just sit and work without needing to prattle away about some useless nonsense."

Nalir came up short. Barimus liked his company? That was unexpected. And more than encouraging. Indeed, their whole conversation was entirely unanticipated. The different was subtle. His master wasn't speaking to him like an apprentice. Indeed, he almost sounded like he was confiding in him. Speaking as if to an equal. As if to a friend. And that was very much what Nalir needed right now. A friend.

"Howl is the worst…" The Royal Sorcerer smirked with absent memory, "_Chat, chat, chat, chat…_ Stars above, _the agony!"_

"Markl likes to look over my shoulder when I'm scrying even though he could easily look for himself. And then comes the questions. Who's that? What's she saying? Why'd he do that? Where are they going? And blast it all, he expects me to know! If I _knew_ then why would I bother scrying!?"

"You should know he cares about you a great deal. Markl is too good natures not to come around."

"So Theresa says. Ryden too. But I'm not so sure I believe them. Markl may seem simple. But as they say, his river runs deep."

Barimus caught him scowling at the fractured orb. And the blond wizard sighed sadly. Going hard as he looked away out the window.

"They found him. The man who sabotaged the airship."

Even though he already knew, Nalir started bolt upright out of his chair as if he'd been shocked awake.

"W-when? Where!?"

"Here. Right under our noses. Working in the Yellow Guild with the rest of the airship mechanics. Howl finally pried an impression free of the unexploded bomb before the memorial. And I have a man who has a talent for tracking. Seth can be very useful. You remember, Seth."

It was hard to forget the bald scarred man, one of a handful of covert Magi in the Black Guard. And Nalir on his feet, trembling fists clenched.

"I want to see him."

His teacher frowned as he looked him up and down.

"I do not think that is a good idea at the moment."

"Please, Master." He pressed quietly. "I need this."

Slowly, gingerly, the Royal Sorcerer stood. His legs were hurting him. Both had been broken in the Daemon War. And the cold sent the bones aching, much like it sent Nalir's chest the burning with a potential coughing fit.

"Will you _stop_ calling me master!?_ Damnation_…" Barimus cringed, hobbling for the door, "Soon I'll need a stick just like Suliman. Ryden!?"

The red shirt came in from the hallway, looking more than relieved as he caught sight of Nalir.

He saluted smartly. "Sir?"

"We're taking a short cut to the Red Wing. All of us."

The blond man turned the portal dial behind the lanky fellow to a swatch of red before yanking the door open on Peoter's office. It was empty. The Captain of the Guard was nowhere to be seen. Out in the corridor shouting and singing could be heard from the main Hall. But they turned their backs on the festivities, going beyond the barracks, through a series of guarded doorways into the swallowing dark in the back corridors. The stone passage grew damp with cold as they wound down into the forgotten bones of the armory.

And the sinking feeling was back in Nalir's heart.

Squeezing harder and harder as something grew nearer.

At the bottom of a spiraling stone stair, light started up from a series of guttering mage-light lanterns hanging over a barred row of cells. Seran's shadow cast across the floor from where he sat on a stood beside one of the holding rooms, transforming him into even more of a giant. Arms crossed and steely gaze staring off into the dark. He could have been a daemon for all Nalir could tell. Carved of living rock that moved and breathed. Abruptly the stone man was on his feet, saluting as he saw them coming down the stairs.

"Sir!" His voice sounded like grating gravel, although his flinty brow chipped with confusion, "I thought you said there were to be no visitors?"

The stone man fell silent as Nalir came up to the bars, closing his hands over the frosty metal. His breath showed in white plumes. Just like it had beneath the ice. It came in short gasps that stung in the pit of his lungs. And it felt like the snow had returned. He could feel the bite of the ice all around him.

Because tucked into the corner of the cell.

Hidden completely in shadow.

Was a man.

Just a man. Not a Magi.

Wearing little more than was necessary to ward off the chill.

At least the cell was clean. And he had a blanket.

But that mattered little.

"Stand up so I can see you!" Nalir ordered.

Because he had to see.

Had to know for sure whether or not he was guilty.

And the man ignored him.

"_Yeh gone deaf!?"_ Seran thundered. "Do as he says or I'll come in there and make yeh!"

The prisoner started to his feet, turning, coming forward into the light. Nalir didn't even notice Ryden leaned in and spit on the ground at his feet. Didn't recognize his friend's voice beneath the seething layer of hate.

"_I hope you burn in the Beyond, you murderer!"_

"That's enough, Ryden!" Barimus snapped, "Wait at the top of the stairs. No one else is to come down save Peoter."

Nalir didn't see his friend go. Because he was staring. Staring because the man was just a boy. Barely older than he was. Mardan. Thin, pale, and proud. Dried blood on his noses. And his red hair cropped short and uneven, shorn recently. No doubt to shame him. There were heavy shackles on his hands and feet. But his green eyes blistered with venomous hate.

Nalir's insides went completely cold.

Because it was like looking at himself.

"What's your name?" Nalir heard himself asking in Mardan. The language felt old and rusty on his tongue. And the prisoner hesitated as if startled for a moment, and then answered with the grace of good breeding.

"Kaplan."

"Where are you from, Kaplan?"

"Dethel." His green eyes darkened, "Not that there's anything left of it."

It was true. Dethel was a border town. One of the heaviest bombed. It was gone now. Just like Godeth, Marnold, and his home.

"I'm from Vaerna. It's gone too." Nalir beckoned, "Come closer, Kaplan. I still can't quiet see you."

It was true.

Because the knowing lingered just beyond his reach.

Reluctantly, and not without a wary glance at Seran, the prisoner came closer, dragging his chains after him. Until Nalir could have touched him. And the young man squinted through the light, suddenly seeing the arms on the ruby around his neck. His jade eyes went wide as they picked out the Ingarian Arms. Recognition flared in his gaze. And hate returned to him in a flood, until he was shaking with it.

"_Traitor!"_ Kaplan snarled, and then spat right in his face, clutching at the bars as though he wished they were his neck.

"_You little bastard!"_ Seran started up beside him, coming up short as Nalir's hands shot through the bars, grabbing hold of Kaplan's wrists.

"W-what are you doing!? Let me go!" The prisoner struggled back, his eyes flying wide with fear.

"Nalir!" Barimus called furiously from behind him.

"_Do not interfere_!" He barked back.

Because once again he was falling forward. Pushing his way into the thicket of Kaplan's mind. Being an intruder was different than just overhearing. It was much harder. And he fought his way between the dense underbrush of the man's memories. But the fellow was not a Magi. Not prepared to defend himself from such an invasion. Nalir easily broke down the door to his mind and walked inside.

Walked into the same Hell that'd claimed his father's life.

He watched through Kaplan's eyes as Dethel burned. The ground heaved each time a bomb hit, sending walls crumbling down around him as fire and ash poured from above. And the black sky was screaming with airships that belched a black hail of death. A bomb shattered the roof of Kaplan's home. Expelling ravenous raven red tongues that licked and snapped around Nalir. Passing around him uselessly. Not so much as singing him though everyone inside was killing

He couldn't smell the scorch of the fire.

Couldn't feel the blistering ache of the heat.

But he saw.

Saw the piles of rubble run red with the blood of those crushed beneath.

Except for Kaplan.

Except for Yewin.

The young man's despair nearly broke him. Nearly crushed him like the fallen stones and timber had crushed his family. But still Nalir searched, catching hold of a memory more recent. He picked it out of the impressions milling around him like harried minnows circling in a bucket.

Tasted if only for a second Kaplan's joy over the letter.

Because Yewin had finally sent for him.

But the joy faded to searing outrage. His benefactor, his caretaker, was calling him of all places to the Yellow Guild in God forsaken Ingary!? Kaplan did not understand. But he came. Didn't understand the favor Yewin asked him. He had studied hard at the Engineering University. The metal casings were simple to put together. Similar to the blasting caps housings he prepared for the eastern mines. And he didn't understand why a Magi would need blasting caps. They could blow up anything with a flick of their hands. He didn't understand. Not until he heard about the airship crash.

But he hadn't run.

Kaplan waited patiently for them to find him.

Because he understood. He accepted.

Martyr.

The word echoed in his head like a curse.

Nalir recoiled from it and the hate boiling beneath.

Launching himself back out into a world that was spinning. Someone was pinching his nose, turning his head back as frilly lace tickled and caught in his eye lashes. Cold stone suddenly resolved beneath his back. Blinking rapidly as Barimus' face appeared, pale and twisted with worry.

Seran was swearing like a sailor in the distance.

"_Don't hurt him!"_ Nalir choked on the nauseating taste of copper as blood poured down the back of his throat form his nose.

"Get his up!" Barimus ordered with quiet fury.

Someone slung his elbows across their shoulder. And it took Nalir a moment to see Peoter and Ryden. Together they dragged him up the stairwell into an empty office at the top, carefully depositing him in a chair.

Barimus came hobbling after, in no mood to offer sympathy.

"What did you just do!?"

Nalir dropped his head between his knees as the world continued to spin. "Kaplan may have fabricated the bombs but he did not set them. He had _nothing_ to do with the crash."

Peoter and Ryden started, exchanging a startled glance.

"_And how the hell do you know that!?" _His master shouted furiously, growing angrier with each passing moment. _"Explain yourself!" _

Nalir played the only card he had.

It was the only way to calm his master down.

The only way to force him to make the others leave.

So he could explain to him alone.

The only way he could make him believe.

"I know… The same way I know what's inside the blue box."

Barimus went stock still.

"All of you get out. Wait downstairs. No one leaves until I say so."

Hinges squeaked as the door shut.

And magic thrilled through the room as Barimus set scry wards.

"No need." Nalir offered weakly, "No one can scry you as long as you're with me."

But the Royal Sorcerer didn't hear him.

He could feel his master's weighty gaze burning a hole in his chest.

"Tell me what is in the blue box." Never had he heard his Master so cold. Nalir refused to look because he was afraid of what he'd see. And he flinched as Barimus barked impatiently. _"Now!"_

"Cyanine's earrings."

Not for the first time that day Nalir hated himself.

Because all at once the man sank into the opposite chair. Shoulders bowed as he put his face in his hands. The words that slipped between them were brimming with pure agony.

"I never told anyone. Nor did she. So, how? _How do you know!?_"

"I'm sorry, Master... I'm so sorry… I don't know how to control it yet! You were thinking about her so clearly when I came in. I couldn't help it!"

Stunned, Barimus surfaced from his hands. Staring at him

"You heard my thoughts?"

"N-no… I _saw_ them…"

"TrueSight?"

"Y-yes…"

"H-how long?" Words seemed to be failing his master. And Nalir stumbled over himself to supply them.

"I s-swear I didn't mean to pry! I didn't mean to drag you through this! It was the only way I could get you alone. The only way I could think to make you believe me!"

"_How long!?"_ Barimus barked.

"Since the memorial… But I t-think maybe I've been seeing for much longer. I think I might have been confusing it with scrying.…" Bowing his head Nalir struggled not empty the contents of his stomach onto the stone floor, whispering in spite of the fact that no one could hear them. "M-master? There's more. Sometimes… Sometimes I FarSee…"

The blond Magi started as though he'd been struck. Sitting bolt upright as he looked as him as though he'd become a daemon. Because foresight was a rare gift. If you could call it a gift. It was the rarest and the most feared of gifts because it always brought ill luck rather than fortune. And bearers hid their talents lest they be ostracized or worse.

The last documented magi with such a gift had become Oathbreaker.

She was Sorceress Suliman's sister.

Erin Danna.

"Who else knows?" Nalir started from his thoughts as his Master spoke.

"You. Theresa. No one else."

Only then did Nalir steal a glance at his master. Barimus's brows knitted together with consternation. And the Mardan started, jolting upright as a memory screamed through the blond man's head even as he tried to tear it back, smother it beyond sight. But it was too loud to ignore. Too clear not to see.

Nalir saw.

Saw a conversation the Royal Sorcerer held with Elder Tirut before he took both Markl and he as apprentices.

One he hadn't overhead.

One he wasn't meant to hear.

Nalir had never understood why the old man picked him when he first came to the academy. There were far more talented students in his age group. He never understood why he was so kind to him. So patient. Even when he behaved horribly. Nalir never understood the strange sobering glances the faded old man turned upon him without warning, like he'd woken from a bad dream. Sometimes he looked at him sadly, as if troubled by a great old hurt. Nalir thought it was just age. But it was more. Much more.

Merra never told him Tirut had been Caedir's Master.

Never told him Tirut was a TrueSeer. Just like his father.

She never told him the reason Tirut bore such an inexplicable burden of guilt. Because Tirut loved Caedir. Loved him as a son. Merra never told him Tirut had seen Caedir's death. Never told him the old man had tried to save him from it by keeping the vision hidden. And for all his desperate effort, Nalir's nimble thinking father picked it right out of his master's mind. Saw his doom.

Return to Marda. Save his wife and child. And die.

Or remain in Ingary. Loose all he loved. And live.

As in all things, fate offered little choice.

Nalir stumbling out of his chair. Throwing himself backwards until he hit stone as if trying to outrun the vision. His knees gave as he sat down hard, clutching his head, trying to shake the memory free. But it burned into his mind, etched beyond forgetting. Like the raining fire in Kaplan's memories. The same fire that haunted his nightmares. And the cough wracked his insides at he memory of the burning air that scarred his lungs. Stealing his breath as he choked, desperately trying to gasp air back into his lungs.

Stars bloomed black and gray, making the world darken.

"_Nalir!"_ Barimus had him by the arms, shaking him to attention. _"Be calm! Breathe!"_

Dragging in a wheezing, shuddering gasp, Nalir complied. Lightheaded and giddy, he stared at his master's solemn brown eyes. Watching them dissolved as burning shame filled Nalir's eyes, spilling out of him. Because it was as if he'd lost Caedir all over again. It was as if he was a helpless little boy. Watching the ceiling shatter. Crumble into fire and fall on his father.

He could hear Merra screaming!

Screaming until the roar of the airships drowned her entirely!

Abruptly the Royal Sorcerer yanked him into a rough embrace, his commanding voice plucking him free from panic and pain.

"I'm sorry, Nalir… Tirut said I'd have to help you. I'm sorry… I didn't understand until now. He said I could always trust you to know what was right. And I do trust you. I do believe you."

Nalir held onto Barimus as though his life depended on it. Barimus arm wrapped around his shoulders. And the contact felt good. Wordless they sat together on the cold stone floor. Too weak to get up by themselves. Too stubborn to admit it to one another. Quietly they shared each other's company. Until a strange resigned peace stretched between them.

"Have you seen anything?" His master finally asked hesitantly.

"Yes." Nalir abandoning decorum as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Good or bad?"

"Good." The Mardan felt his insides relax. Warm joy spread thorough him like the sunrise at the memory of the boy's smiling face, "I saw my son."

Barimus stilled, awe quieting his voice, tempering it with a bittersweet mixture of sadness and delight, "Truly?"

"He'll have Theresa's hair." Nalir was overwhelmed with simultaneous pride and dismay, "I'll have to shave the poor thing bald."

"_Hah!" _A rueful smirk pricked the corners of Bairmus's mouth, "Not if the women have anything to say on it. Lettie is quite fond of long hair."

Nalir snorted, "So are her daughters."

But his Master didn't laugh. Slowly the grin faded from his lips and his eyes darkened, brow furrowing. Nalir knew what was weighing on his mind. And he looked away, trying to hide the fact that he was struggling with the desperate urge to tell the truth and the maddening urge to remain silent.

"Does Kaplan know who set the bombs?"

Again he felt as if he were about to be sick, because it was an opportunity to divulge the truth. He faltered. Unsure of what to do. Because the knowing offered no help on this issue. And after a moment that seemed to stretch into forever, Nalir lied.

"No."

"It doesn't make any sense…" Barimus pulled on one of the rubies at his ears, "If he didn't plant the casings why hasn't he protest? What reason could he have for remaining silent?"

"Pride. Hatred." Nalir scowled at the floor, ignoring the sinking feel in his gut, because he might as well have been talking about himself, "Both are useless things Mardans seem to hold in great quantity."

His master was quiet for a long moment. Deep in thought. Then he shook himself, looking towards the door. "Call Peoter, Ryden, and Seran back."

"Yes, sir." Although he nearly jumped out of his skin as his master tightened his arm around his neck, shaking him playfully.

"_Barimus!"_

The Reds all but burst into the room.

And Barimus greeted them from the floor with smooth control.

"Seran. See if you can find any one sober in the Red Hall and see to it that Kaplan it removed from the prison block at once. Transfer him to a more comfortable but secure room in the Red Hall."

But his eyes hardened.

Sweeping back to Ryden, who was teetered on the edge of outrage.

"Treat him fairly. I will question him myself at a later time and will know if anything otherwise happened in my absence. Understood?"

"Sir!" The Guards answered in unison before the stone man bowed and retreated on his errand. Barimus watched until the man was gone, waited until the other man couldn't not see his weakness before reaching for the Captain of the guard.

"Get me up off the floor, Peoter…"

"The bones never did set right." The former twin grimaced as he stooped, hoisting him by the arm. "They're only going to get worse."

"There wasn't time." The blond Magi struggled to stay upright, "And I'm not keen on breaking them again simply to give it another go."

"Shall I call for a healer?" Nalir fitted himself under Barimus other shoulder, steadying his master, already remembering two Greens with shy touches of Mindspeak.

"I doubt anyone will be up at this hour. If they are they'll be in their cups and beyond calling. Ryden, go see if you can find a Green?"

The dun colored fellow was frowning, "Shouldn't I get Martha, sir?"

"No." Peoter blinked, confused as his master cringed, dropping his head to hide his distress, "Just find someone who isn't likely to come after me with a bone saw. Then go help Seran. I doubt there's a sober Red to be found in the Hall."

"Sir." Ryden saluted and then went striding through the door.

With Peoter's help Nalir hobbled Barimus through the portal back to his office. Carefully they deposited the Royal Sorcerer in his chair. Nalir watched the former twin restarted the fire before coming back to the table. He stopped mid-stride, staring at the bottle on the table. And his grimace deepened as Barimus plucked it up and poured an all too full glass.

"You had a row with Martha."

It wasn't a question. Already Nalir could feel the tension crackling between the two of them. And he discreetly shrank against the wall to the left of the door, waiting for an opportune moment to excuse himself.

"What makes you think that?" He muttered back, "Besides… Scotch is better than morphine."

"You're a bad liar." Peoter crossed his arms.

"You're just pouting because I haven't offered you a glass yet.

Nalir heart sank, because by now Barimus's glass was empty. He refilled it, again, far too full, already going red in the face.

"I'm not drinking." The Wizard Guard colored to match his shirt. "I drank my last the other night."

"Nonsense!" He knocked back his glass and shuddered, "You an' Dieter are first to the bottom of any bottle. Pull up a chair. Both of you."

Nalir's insides scrambled uncomfortably.

Because Peoter had gone stock still at the mention of his twin's name.

But all the color drained from his face as he misheard the Royal Sorcerer.

Nalir flinched as memory tried to jump to him from Peoter like a spark of electricity. Abruptly the Mardan looked away, staring at the pile of the rug on floor, reciting nursery rhymes in his head. Anything to keep himself from seeing or hearing what was going on in the man's head. Because his eyes were filled with shard shards of pain. With rigid steps the captain turned towards the door, sending Nalir a message of coolly worded mind speak.

_Call if he get's out of line. I'm not beyond taking the bottle away._

"Peoter? Peoter, come back here!"

He spun on his heel, disapproval bright in his hazel eyes.

"Is that an order, sir?"

The blond man sputtered, "Of course it's not!"

"As you say. _Sir._ Finding anyone _sober_ is going to be difficult this evening. Best I keep my head since everyone else appears to be forgetting theirs."

With that the Red left.

Barimus stared after his friend. Then put down his glass. Sinking low in the chair as he rolled his face into a hand. A muscle was jumping at the back of his clenched jaw. And he couldn't think of anything to say to soothe his Master. Everyone was at odds this evening. An ill omen for the new year.

Nalir went stock still as someone knocked on the door.

And the knowing barged into his head without invitation.

Shocking him with what lay waiting on the other side.

"Come!" Barimus barked.

The Royal Sorcerer straightened in surprise as the portal opened.

"Yewin? I didn't expect Ryden to send you. Come in. Do come in."


	9. Chapter 9

At a loss, Theresa caught a glimpse of Ryden as Nalir stormed out.

The skinny bastard!

He took off into the hall before she could argue with him properly.

_Stay put,_ he said!

_Wait for me to come back,_ he said!

_We'll go together,_ he said!

Like hell she was going to sit around and waste time!

The moment the door to the apartment yanked shut, Theresa went storming into Nalir's bedroom. Throwing open the wardrobe, she yanked down a pair of pants. Funny that. She and Nalir were exactly the same size. And she wasn't sure if that was something to be proud of. At least his feet were bigger than hers. Well, that wasn't something to be happy about in this case. She had to double up on socks so that his boots did flop around on her feet when she walked. Seizing her hair Theresa twisted it up into a tight knot, tying it off with a pilfered shoe lace. Only then did she catch sight of herself in the mirror.

She looked like she was going to a funeral.

Ugh… She looked… She looked like a scrawny boy.

Looked just like _Nalir_!

Although she jolted in surprise.

Casting an anxious glance over her shoulder.

Theresa could have sworn she saw someone standing behind her.

But there was no one there.

Nerves, she grumbled, hooking the velvet robe closed at her chest. When they got through all this the first thing she was going to do was make Nalir buy lots and lots of clothes in anything but black! Burgundy. He looked so very handsome in burgundy.

On her way back through the living room Theresa snatched up the slate, pausing as awe cut through her fury. And she marveled, running her fingers over the shallows impressions on the stone. She couldn't read them. But the words were there. Once she got to the Green Wing she could easily make a rubbing with some paper and charcoal. Tucking the stone slate under her arm, she pushed out into the hall.

The rest of the Palace vacillated between wild partying and utter silence. She darted back as several well dressed courtiers, a pair of magi, and country woman ran screaming through the corridors playing tag like a group of school children, dragging after them a long tail of garlanded ivy and holly. The next passage was eerily silent and twice as dark. Remembering the toothy blood soaked daemon she'd last encountered in a dark palace hall, she quickened her pace, gasping for breath as she finally pushed through the double doors into the Green Wing.

She knew the woman at the desk. Blinking rapidly, trying to brush off the fact that she'd been dozing, Sara straightened with a scandalized frown.

"Are those _men's_ pants!?"

"_Yes!"_ She thundered and the woman shrank back, _"Yes they are!"_

Heading down the hallway, darting her gaze around, she went for the work room. Theresa knew every inch of the long space. As an apprentice she'd scrubbed every corner, refilled every jar and box. Folded and stuffed every shelf. She knew which floorboards squeaked and which closets lead were the best to hide in. And Theresa lit the gas lamps with a match, revealing that overhead the glass of the skylights were choked with snow. One wall was with a row of auxiliary supply rooms stocked from the larger stores. The other was nothing but books, bound in green leather and printed with tiny flashed of gold words. Yanking free several reference tomes, she snatched up a crumbled handful of paper and rooted in a writing desk for a bit of charcoal. Laying out her burdens on the nearest empty surface, she went to work, darting back and forth between the supply cabinet.

Martha may have relegated her to the supply rooms, but that didn't mean her mistress hadn't taught her their trade. And after six years of living in the Green Wing, Theresa was good at problem solving. Flipping through the various indexes, she forged connections, picking apart the results of the test.

Magic was a tool like any other.

But it was certainly not the only tool.

And like any other means, it began in the mind.

Medicine was a place where magic could be of great help. But you didn't have to be a master Magi to be of great use. Lesser mages often went into the Red Guard because the Academy didn't know what to do with them. These magi may not sit on the Council or do great feats of enchantment. But they did work along the Yellow Guard, civil Engineers and craftsmen, to build bridges, buildings, and practically everything else in the three countries. They also partnered with the Blue Guard, the Ingarian Civilian Amy, to keep their lands safe and secure. But what about the Greens? No such partnership existed. And why shouldn't the Red Guard be cross-trained? Why should suitable magi be put to work in the Healer's Guild? Vice versa, why shouldn't the healers be trained in what to expect from magic? It was ridiculous that they not.

And here was a perfect example of why.

Merra hadn't been able to think beyond magic.

But that was not the way to go when it came to poison.

There was no spell that would cure her affliction.

But science picked up where magic went weak.

Nature held her own enchantments. Kept her own balance. And as an herbalist Theresa knew for every constituting substance there was an equal and opposite substance. Each rendered the other mute. Acid and base. Combined in the correct proportions they became water. Neutral. Harmless. Theresa lit a burner at the station, watching the liquid slowly soak into the warming crucible, revealing the result of the components she'd just ground in an enormous mortal and pestle. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she carefully taped the resulting powder into a clean vial. Corking it shut as she flicked off the fire.

Triumph hummed in her chest as she pocketed the tube. Coming out into the hallway she went back to the front desk only to find Sara dozing again.

"Hey!" Theresa shook her awake.

"Wha'!? Oh!" She turned bright red, matching the Solstice decorations garlanding her pulpit. "I was just resting my eyes."

Craning her neck Theresa peered over the desk at the crank box bolted to the desk top. They called it a tin-farspeak after the Magi it was supposed to replace. It transmitted voices over wires to other boxes throughout the palace. The Yellow Guild said it wasn't magic. Theresa didn't believe them.

"I need someone trustworthy to run an errand. Can you call up the Red Wing for me?"

"Eh? A Red?" She yawned, "One of yours was just here."

"Really?" Theresa threw her eyes down the empty hall, "Who?"

"Oh, drat…" Sara's brow furrowed as she rubbed sleep reddened eyes, "I can't remember his name…. Dark skinned. Ridiculously tall."

"Ryden?"

"That's him! He wasn't here more than ten minutes ago. Handsome chap! Nellie's always on about him. Do you know if he's single?"

Theresa waved off her silliness, "What was Ryden doing here?"

"Lord Barimus sent him to fetch a Green."

Theresa frowned, "Is Barimus alright?"

"Oh, he will be soon. Would you believe that Healer Yewin just popped up out of nowhere?" Sara gushed with stars in her eyes, "Bless that man!"

Theresa gripped the edge of the desk as the word tipped.

Suddenly she felt like she was going to be sick.

Because a strange sensation was uncurling in her chest.

Crawling up the back of her arms. Making her scalp itch.

And the eerie premonition drove her like a whipped horse.

_Go!_ It screamed. _Go now!_

"Goodness!" The Greenie had her by the hands, "Are you alright dear? You just went white as a sheet!"

"Call the Reds!"Theresa blurted in a panic, wrenching herself free, "Call Captain Peoter! Tell them an attempt is being made on Barimus's life!"

"Wait!" Sara shrieked from behind her, _"Theresa, wait!"_

But she didn't wait.

She ran.

***

"Dear, dear, dear…" Yewin clucked his tongue like an all too good natured nurse maid. "Scotch is no proper cure for your ailment."

Barimus flushed like a shamed child, "Forgive me my few vices."

Nalir's skin crawled as the Green passed him by without so much as noticing him. And the riot of fear marauding through his insides stilled. Because it was true. Yewin couldn't see him. As his eyes went to the man's back his gut boiled over with rage.

And he almost screamed in fury.

If only he had a dagger.

All this could be at an end.

Fate had provided him with a more perfect opportunity.

But he did not possess magic enough to kill the man.

Yewin deposited a bag on the empty chair beside his master then turned the bottle to look at the label, nodding appreciatively, "Good taste is no a vice, Lord Councilor. Now I take it your legs are bothering you again?"

"Yes…" Barimus winced as he shifted in his chair, "They ache as if someone's placed red hot pokers inside my shins."

"That will be the old breaks." Yewin frowned, turned to his bag. The contents clinked as he opened it, "Let's see what I can do for the pain."

Nalir crept forward, desperately trying to catch his master's attention. But he was tired. Head hanging heavy with drink. He didn't see. And the young magi's insides thrilled with dread as he caught shreds of the Green Magi's thoughts.

_There it is… _Yewin's sharp green eyes stole over Barimus face. _The gray in his beard. Reth mentioned it at Council. That and the limp. The Lord Councilor's getting old. The burden takes its toll. Just like it did on Suliman. What did Varra used on her, I wonder? Will the foxglove be strong enough for him? I made it ten times as strong... Men his age keel over every day from heart attacks. It should be enough._

Nalir panicked, hurling thoughts at his teacher when he was dead asleep. _Yewin! He's the traitor!_

"Wha'!?" The blond man's head lifted drowsily. "Did you say something, Nalir?"

Yewin jolted as Barimus spoke, dropping a bottle in his hand. Nalir darted forward as the vial as it rolled towards him. With a gasp the green started back from him as if seeing a ghost. To the fat bastard he must have appeared from nowhere. As he shrank he made way for Nalir to dart in, putting himself between the healer and his master. As he did he crushed the glass tube beneath his foot.

"Oh! I do apologize, Master Yewin!"

Nalir feigned mortification, although his face showed anything but contrition, making it quite clear he knew exactly what he was doing. And the magi paled with wrath as the rest of the poison ground beneath his heel.

"Not to worry, I have more." He beamed with affability so false it cracked. And his green eyes turned lethal as his mask fell away, revealing the monster beneath.

"What happened?" Barimus shook himself. He had been dozing a minute prior. And a shadow of doubt passed over Yewin's face s he roused. A shard of doubt Nalir exploited. Praying that Barimus was paying attention.

"I ran into an old friend of yours today, Master Yewin."

"Really, my boy?" He gritted through clenched teeth, "Who, pray tell?"

"Kaplan of Dethel."

"Kaplan?" Barimus started violently, wide awake as he turned to the Green, "You know Kaplan?"

At once Yewin's features snapped into a perfect mask of calm.

"I'm afraid I have no idea whom you're referring to."

But the pretense cracked. And he broke out in a sweat, baring his teeth in what was more a grimace than a smile. Barimus' face fell as he sobered suddenly, looking as if seeing the Green for the first time. Nalir's guarded posture did not go unnoticed by his Master. Not did he miss the undisguised hatred in his apprentice's eyes. And a shadow of understanding passed over the Royal Sorcerer's face as Nalir reached out to call Peoter.

Yewin knocked the words back into his mind with a crushing blow of shielding, hurling him flat on his back.

Red flash beside him as the world spun.

Because Barimus was on his feet and a thunderclap stretched between his hands. The air rippled with the force of his Master's magic as he hurled the sheer force of it at Yewin. From the floor Nalir watched in dismay as lithely the fat man caught it, redirected it, bending it to his own will before casting it back. Barimus deflected the blow, sending it skittering against the opposite wall. The magic erupted into a kaleidoscopic explosion, bouncing off the shielding charms that activated, locking down the room, refracting the magic inwards as it showered them with smoldering sparks. Nalir cringed back as chairs and table folded like cards, tumbling over in a searing wind that devoured fabric and singed the floor.

Magi did not duel very often.

And in spite of what country folk may think, in spite of all the sophisticated spells and incantations sorcerers held at their ready, the violence they wrought on each other was far from civilized. They were nothing like the pistol fights or the fencing matches favored by courtiers. Contests between Magi were far more elemental. Quite literally a clash of will and strength.

No luck. No chance. No finesse or subtlety.

Victory was secured by sheer brute force alone.

Again Barimus threw out his hands, circling. Incandescent fire blossomed around Yewin's feet, but the fat man calmly divided it around himself, reflecting the power back at the blond Magi. And Nalir watched in dismay as his master showed signs of tiring. Because the gray bearded Mardan was taking the offensive only to use Barimus's magic against him.

Nalir extended his reach. Calling out to Peoter, Ryden, or anyone that could hear him. But there was too much interference. Raw power reverberated in the tiny space, echoing off the shielding. He could barely hear himself let alone get a message thru to others.

Sensing his attempt, abruptly the Green turned.

Redirecting the scarlet fire of Barimus's magic right at him.

But it never reached Nalir.

The Royal Sorcerer threw himself in front of his apprentice, hastily calling up an ill formed shield that dissolved as the force struck him full in the chest. Sent him hurtling back. Nalir watched in terror as his master bounced off the wall and collapsed beside the doors. Dusting his hands, Yewin fished what was left of his medicine bag from the rubble as the young Magi scrambled to his feet. Nalir barred the Green's way as he turned with a hypodermic needle in his hand.

"Move aside, _boy_!"

Yewin attempted to drag him away with the fist of his will. But Nalir slipped from his grasp, standing firm, protecting his master. And the fat man paled with fury. Summoning a pistol out of thin air which he turned upon him.

Nalir blanched.

Stopping a bullet was a far cry from diverting magic.

That's all that shielding was. Willing force to change path.

And magic was more than willing to change.

But stopping a pistol shot was like trying to stop a knife thrust by punching the blade. Mundane often won when pitted against magic. Invariably it cut its way through.

Nalir called his bluff, "You won't shoot me. You need me alive."

"Who said I'm going to kill you." He grinned cruelly, "I'm a Magi _and_ a Green, _boy_. Every hole I punch in your hide I can easily make whole."

Nalir pressed, buying time. Because the Reds had to be on their way. Alarms would be going off all over the palace. "It's over, Yewin. There's no way out of this."

"Oh, don't be so sure of that."

Yewin's magic flared.

Conjuring a small square metal box onto the floor between them.

Nalir's insides lurched as he recognized the bomb.

It was just like the others.

Stone cold mundane.

And there was nothing he could do to defuse it.

"Kaplan is so very industrious. We'll survive, of course. Unfortunately your master will not be so lucky." Yewin's face twisted with malevolent triumph, "_You_ will take his place. _You_ will do _exactly_ as I say. Otherwise your mother _will_ die! And I promise there will be _nothing_ your meddling county girl slut can do to save her!" Cocking the flint, he sighted it the middle of his chest. _"Now move!"_

All at once the knowing stole upon Nalir.

Creeping up his spine like the cold north wind. He went weak as all the warmth seemed to drain from the world. Time slowed as the light darkened. Eyes widening as he _saw_. Saw the consequences of the paths that lay before him. Returning to himself, Nalir found that the sullied Green was staring at him. Hesitating suspiciously. He must have tasted the bloom of magic that marked the coming of the vision. And curiosity got the better of him.

"What did you see?"

"I saw the scorched plains, Yewin." Nalir intoned in a hollow echoing voice that was not his own. It sent the Magi transparent with dread, sent him back a step as he lifted his eyes. Piercing the fat man's mind with the promise of his imminent death. "They are waiting for you on the other side."

The wall behind Nalir exploded inwards.

Splintering around him as the shielding shattered.

Suddenly he understood what the Lady of the Wall meant.

Understood why she looked so very sad.

It was a small thing. A single step to the left.

But the consequences! _Oh, the consequences!_

And he understood why he'd been offered a second chance.

She would live. But their son would die.

Balance always exacted a price.

And once again fate offered little choice.

Without hesitation, Nalir took a step to the left.

***

Theresa ran. Following the compass needle in her heart that somehow pointed the way to Nalir. She followed it back to Barimus' office. Shoving her way through the doors just as an explosion rocked the adjoining chamber.

She shrieked as the chandelier jolted, darkening as the lights flickered.

It tittered fearfully as its crystal bobbles trembled.

Sending a spray of dust and plaster raining down from above.

An eerie wind was filtering under the door, making every hair on her body stand on end. All the same, in spite of the fact that she was light-headed with fear, she went forward, hauling on the door. But it wouldn't budge. Not even when she planted her foot on the frame and pulled until the knob tore off. Theresa spilled back onto the dusty rug, stilling as muffled voices rose on the other side. She couldn't hear them. But she recognized them.

Nalir.

_And Yewin!_

Boot thundered in the hall. And she flinched as a fleet of Reed came storming into the room lead by Peoter, Ryden, and Seran. The Captain of the Guard reached her first, yanking her upright. Abruptly the soldiers drew back as the Wallmaker parted his way between them, looking liked he'd come straight from the Wastes. Probably right from looking for Markl. He was muddy and his checkered coat was soaked and still frozen with snow. But there was hell in his sapphire blue eyes. The raven haired sorcerer spread his hands on the magic barred door. And Theresa drew the pistol from her pocket, checking the powder as Ryden fell in beside her.

"_What the hell do you think you're doing?!"_ He hissed between his teeth, _"Get to the rear!"_

"Fuck off, Ryden." She cocked the flint, straightening her arm to ready.

"Brace yourself!" Howl barked suddenly,

Theresa started, marveling as magic surged up the walls, spreading in spidery curls from the Wallmaker's outstretched palms. But the luminous sheen it left in its wake fractured like a pane of glass. Abruptly the doors detonated. The Reds scattered as the walls and part of the ceiling followed. On the other side, amidst the pandemonium, Theresa saw him. A flash of green half bent with an arm casting an arch of shimmering air to ward off the falling debris. Yewin turned as he saw her, sighting the pistol in his hand just as she raised hers.

"_You are __**mine**__, boy!"_He roared. Green eyes crazed.

He must have mistaken her for Nalir.

But it didn't matter. Her flint struck. Sending her arm jolting as the bullet rocketed free of the barrel. Proving she was still a good shot. And she broke her oath as Yewin's right eye blotted out. Turning to a hollow mouth. It's red lips screamed soundlessly as another shot cracked in the distance. Something moved in front of her. A blur of black knocked into her as the ceiling squealed like a stuck pig. It buckled, writhing and coming alive as it collapsed on them. The air split into a roar as another explosion heaved the room, tossing them into red black darkness.

But she wasn't crushed.

Wasn't smeared into a bloody pulp.

Once again she would have been killed.

If it wasn't for him.

Theresa felt the weight of Nalir's body as he folded around her, felt the thrilling bite of his magic as he held back the rubble just as he had held back the snow. Darkness pressed in on them as the world stilled. Abruptly it cracked. Torn back in shingles, splintered board, and plaster as Ryden and Seran dug them out. Bright that came pouring in like the eerie silence that somehow swallowed all the sound. With it came water, which poured down on them from broken pipes overhead. But she couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear anything.

And she saw Nalir as Seran hauled him out from beside her. He was chalk white, clutching at Ryden's arm. His lips were moving. But she still couldn't hear a thing. Because her ears were drowning in ringing. Deafened by the blast. But it didn't matter. She heard his voice clearly in her mind.

_Barimus!?_

Obviously Ryden heard him too, because he pointed. And through the smoke Theresa saw the pink and grey checks of Howl's coat. The Wallmaker had his brother by the waist, helping him across the rubble with Peoter's assistance. Nalir folded, wilting against her. Ryden clapped his friend on the back reassuringly.

But then she saw the Guard frown at his hand.

It was red with wetness that wasn't water.

Theresa grabbed at Nalir as he fell, falling with him as he pitched back into the rubble. And terror sent the world brighter still. Her hands came away from him covered in scarlet, covered in his blood as she found the bullet wound in his chest. The Reds were scrambling around her, bumping against her, pulling at her. But she wrenched herself free, screaming and fighting, dropping back into the hole to press her hands over Nalir's heart. She could feel the beats beginning to skip as the welling warmth flowed between her fingers. But it wouldn't stop!

And this couldn't be real! This had to be a dream! Otherwise this was Hell! It had to be! This was Hell! Because she'd already lost him once already! Not again! Why!? Why!? It didn't make sense! It wasn't right!

She fell still as Nalir's hands closed over hers.

And his voice sang sweetly in her mind.

Singing her lullaby. Calling her back from the brink where she teetered.

_Hush… Hush, little bird. I will be your shield…_

She stilled as his eyes found hers. Held her.

They were on fire. Incandescent with love.

_I can see the sunflowers, Theresa…_

But his eyes turned distant. Fading. As did his voice.

Going so very far away.

Then they closed.

Theresa stared as silence echoed inside her head.

Realizing his chest had gone still beneath her hands.

And she was screaming. But not a sound came from her lips.

Because he was gone.

Gone.


	10. Chapter 10

_Three months later…_

***

Ryden landed hard, sinking into the drifts of snow. Up the bank Theresa touched down. Her face was chapped red from flying. She pocketing her mended garden hoe as if folded up in her hands like a collapsible spyglass, lifting her flying goggles over her hat brim.

He dropped his eyes to the green vines stitched in a wreath around the red and gold shield emblazoned on her shoulder patch. It still jarred him to see her in a uniform other than green. At least it wasn't black.

It didn't matter what color she wore. Nothing would change the fact that she was now officially a Red. A Red Green to be more precise, hence the pistols strapped in holsters at her hip. Theresa was pioneering the cross-training effort, organizing participants in all the wings. Crossing race boundaries to include even daemons. But there was only so much Calcifer and Heen could do to calm and keep peace with the Kindred. Akarshan tried to help as much as he could. Many Kin remembered him from the War. Unfortunately, it just wasn't enough.

Not enough to make up for what they'd lost.

Together they stared at the ruin.

The bones of the building poked from the drifts of snow like some great behemoth that had fallen asleep beneath the blanket of winter. Others lurked beneath the mounds of ice. Ryden looked down at the exposed cobbles of the street uncovered by the wind of his passing. This place was a ghost, a remnant of a town bombed to dust in the Mardan Ingarian War. The Wastes were peppered with them.

And he couldn't help but notice that shoots of green poked out of the ice. Flowers of some kind. Theresa would know what they were but Ryden didn't. All he knew was they didn't belong to the Wastes. But still they pushed their way out of the ice, turning their leaved to the first touches of spring thaw.

"You sure this is the place?" He called.

"It looks right." Theresa squinted up at the stones.

"Looks like a daemon warren to me…" Ryden muttered under his breath. These places were always crawling with spirits. Already he was getting the creeps.

"Can you smell that?"

He breathed in. Catching a hint of wood smoke. "Yup."

She trudged ahead of him, breaking a path through the snow.

She was always going first.

And he had to keep reminding her that was his job. He was Theresa's bodyguard now, which got her dander up every time he mentioned it. Because around her neck hung the ruby inscribed with the Ingarian Arms.

The mark of the Royal Sorcerer.

Or in this case his unborn heir.

Theresa paused, looking at the snow leading to the listing building. "I don't see any tracks… But Merra said she saw him here this morning."

Ryden frowned. He didn't know what to think of Merra. She wasn't a person you got along with. He didn't like her for a lot of reasons. But the black clad Mardan had bonded with Theresa over the past few months. He wasn't going to say it was because the freckle faced woman saved her life. But that was the most probable explanation. All the same, he'd caught glimpses of a side he'd never seen before in Merra. She got pink in the face whenever she put her hands on Theresa's stomach. Just like Martha. Ryden never understood what it was about babies that made women go all nutty. But it did bring them together. And for that he was grateful. Because Theresa needed Martha more than ever.

"Whoo…" Theresa paused.

"What?" Ryden half ran through the snow, "What!?"

"Just butterflies. Caedir's moving a lot more now."

She pulled on the bottom of her jacket, which did nothing to hide the swelling bump of her belly. Nor did the brimmed hat hide the sorrow etched in deep lines on her face.

They matched in that department.

Ryden knew from watching Peoter that it would never really go away. Never got easier. Because it was easy to forget. Easy to slip. Easy to think he was still here. It was like loosing his friend all over again each time.

It wasn't fair.

But that was life.

Good people died all the time for no reason at all.

And memory was bitter solace for those left behind.

Barimus especially. He was still wearing black.

"Y-you sure you're okay for this?"

"Yeah… The lines on her face eased as her hand drifted back to her stomach. "I don't think he'll listen to anyone but me."

Because thanks to the Merra they finally found him.

Although Ryden had his suspicions that the Mardan had gotten a tip from Dierdrie. The Lady of the Wall was looking out of a lot of mirrors recently. Checking in on them. The Stars were bound not to interfere, but they had a soft spot when it came to Markl.

Shadows skittered in the dark shadows as they entered a sagging stone doorway. And the Red Guard went first, his hand on his pistol as the followed the smell of wood smoke through the cavernous interior, up a dripping, listing flight of stairs, until light spilled over the landing of the dark room. There was a slowly smoldering fire in the crooked hearth. And his insides scrambled uneasily. Because hundreds of wind chimes hung from the rafters. Plaited, stitched, or woven of sticks, grass and stones. It was eerie to see so many of them. They clinked lazily as a draft blew up the stairs, shifting a pile of rags and feathers on the floor in front of the fire. But it was what lay beneath the pile that mattered most.

Ryden hesitated. Not sure what to do.

Fortunately, Theresa didn't seem to have that problem.

"Markl?" She called softly.

"Go away…" A whisper crept from beneath the pile.

"I'm not going anywhere," She came closer, kneeling beside him.

Awkwardly Ryden watched as they sat in silence. But then the feathers transformed. Loosing their ragged edges as it resumed being a cloak. And the trembling fists protruded from beneath its hem tightened into fists. Shaking. Just as did his shoulders.

"I _cursed_ him, Theresa! I _killed_ him!"

So Markl did know.

He figured that's what was keeping him away.

"No, you didn't." She countered evenly, "You know that."

_"I should've been there!"_ Markl choked, _"I could've done something!"_

Ryden didn't know how Theresa could be so composed. He was close to breaking down. His chest was constricting painfully, searing his eyes, closing his throat as he watched his friend sob and curling up even tighter.

But she'd been this way ever since Nalir's memorial.

Bloody Black Bricks, it freaked him out sometimes, the way she exuded calm. Like she'd taken a long look into the future and seen that everything was going to be okay. He wished he could be so optimistic. Whatever it was, just being near Theresa helped. And he was glad she was here. Ryden didn't think Markl would've stayed if anyone else had come in her stead.

The Wallmaker's son jolted as Theresa put her hand on his shoulder. Still trembling, he uncurled, rolling over so he could rest his forehead on her knee.

"This isn't your fault. There's nothing any of us could've done differently. Drie said so." She whispered the last part. Smoothing his tattered tangled hair. Her green eyes were endlessly sad in the firelight. "Come home, Markl. I need you… _We_ need you. I can't do this by myself."

He shifted at something in her tone, lifting his head, looking at her as if for the first time. Revealing he'd grown quite a beard. Markl's troubled amber eyes dropped to her stomach. And he stared for a long moment. All kinds of things were going on inside his eyes. But decision wiped his features clean as he got up off the floor. Standing stooped shouldered like a confused child.

Ryden watched as Theresa took his hand.

He followed them as she led Markl out of the room.

Down the stairs.

Back out into the daylight.

Back into the world.

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Note - 3/7/09**

_GAH!!!!_ I totally _HATED_ writing this chapter!

I'm sorry, I don't usually put in author's notes, but I felt like I had to explain this ending.

This story was supposed to be different from the rest of the Wallmaker's Saga, which was very much a fairy tale. Bad things happen, but everything works out in the end. And I wanted to do something different with the Kindred Cycle.

Why, you may ask, did I call it the Kindred Cycle when it didn't have a thing to do with the daemons? I was referencing the meaning of the word kindred. Theresa and Nalir are very much kindred spirits. It was about them more than anything. I hope this wasn't too sappy or too much of a tear jerker. It was supposed to be more realistic. As I mentioned earlier, the Kindred Cycle was supposed to be a grown up story. One that dealt with grown up problems. People make mistakes. People hurt each other. People fall in love. People die. And no matter what we do, sometimes there nothing we can do to fix things. No matter how much we want to. No matter how much we try.

The Kindred Cycle is exactly that, a cycle. People say that history is a circle, that it repeats itself. So this was in a way a retelling of the Wallmaker's saga. Barimus and Howl were at odds in the beginning about the ascension to Royal Sorcerer. And so Nalir and Markl find themselves in the same situation. I'll spare you the list. You can pick the story apart if you want. There are lost of other parallels.

Probably most importantly, the Kindred Cycle is about love. Love, in a way, is a kind of sacrifice. Invariable you're forced to give up something for its sake. Freedom, friendship, pride: whatever it may be, we willingly pay a price for it. And sometimes the cost is quite high. Problem is (save for a very, _very_ lucky few) we often don't get to keep that love for long. Love and loss go hand in hand. But we all loose things we love. All we're left with in the end is ourselves. But without the people we've loved we wouldn't be who we are. So in a way I guess we never loose them. They're still with us. Even though it's not in the way we want. But then again, we don't always get our way, now do we?

The Kindred Cycle was also about Nalir. We love Markl and the others because they make it easy for us to love them. Nalir was an ass. At first he was hard to like. That's because he was difficult. He was special. I really love Nalir. I didn't realize how special he was until this story started. And I _hate_ that he had to die. But I started this story knowing he was going to die. But I want to give another option just in case you can't stand this. Because I really can't stand it either (I cried a lot when I finished chapter 9. Now my partner things I'm _totally_ nuts ).

I'm going to write an alternate ending. And you can decide which one you want to keep.

This is the last installment of the Wallmaker's World that I'll write. I could keep going, but then I'd never stop. So I'm done now. On to other things.

As always, thank you so much for reading. I wrote this for you. And even though I don't know you, I couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
